


Final Fantasy: Fated

by tinygaia



Category: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy I
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 48
Words: 302,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5607826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinygaia/pseuds/tinygaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a chance meeting, four young people learn that they are the prophesied Warriors of Light, destined to save the world from destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Relevant soundtrack: Prelude by Nobuo Uematsu. Click[here](https://youtu.be/b3SuYFYPe4Y) to check it out on YouTube._

It was years ago, but Jack remembered.

It had been warm for days. He remembered that. He had forgotten many things, so many little details, but he remembered the spring-like warmth in the heart of winter.

He remembered his mother preparing their dinner over the smallest possible fire to keep the house from getting too hot. Of course, she had always used a small fire, no matter the season. His mother was afraid of fire. He remembered that house: in his dreams he walked its rooms and touched the furnishings - simple furnishings, as was the white mage’s way. He remembered the corner where he used to play with his father’s spell books, stacking them to build little houses.

He could not remember his father’s face.

On that particular night, his mother moved the small cook pot to the table and he scrambled eagerly into his chair, the one with the thickest spell book on it to boost him up. “Not yet, love,” his mother said, dousing the tiny fire. “We’ll eat when your father gets home.”

“Where is father?” he asked.

“Patrolling the fence with Destin,” she said. “He won’t be long.”

The warm weather had brought the wolves out in droves. It hadn’t been safe to play outside after sunset. Jack remembered those things, but he did not remember Destin.

He remembered a knock on the door. His mother opened it, and her white robe, hanging from a hook on the back, swung with the motion. A man’s worried face peered in at them from the night. He said, “My lady! You must come! It is as the prophecies say!”

His mother was already shrugging into her white robe. “The fiend?” she asked.

“Yes!” said the man. “Hurry, please!”

“Jack, stay here,” she said. She nodded to the man and rushed out the door without even shutting it behind her.

He’d gone to the door, gazing after her. As she ran toward the tree line beyond the next row of houses, he saw the trees outlined against the night, as if the sun was setting behind them, and he remembered thinking that was odd because it should have been dark outside, pitch dark, but just then the wind had shifted and blown the smell of smoke toward him and he had known his mother was running toward a fire. He ran after her.

Within minutes, they were beyond the last houses, near the cleared area where the market was held. He had not yet caught up with his mother when he heard shouts of battle and people screaming in pain. That gave him pause, but his mother went on. “How many are wounded?” he heard her say.

The man clutched at her arm. “My lady, there’s no time!”

“How many?” she insisted.

The man pointed toward a cluster of villagers. Jack’s mother knelt beside them, touching them with glowing hands. Jack had been on the verge of running toward her when the man noticed him and grabbed his arm. “Stay back!” he said “It isn’t safe!”

Jack stayed with the man as his mother worked her way down the row of wounded. He could tell when she’d come across those beyond the reach of healing – he could see the way the magic slid off of them like water, their souls too weak to hold the spells.

And he remembered, though he wished he could forget, his mother’s cry of anguish when the healing spells failed on the man at the end of the row, the one with long black hair and a black mage’s robes, like his father had always worn. Jack hadn’t seen the dead man’s face – he sometimes wondered, if he had, would he be able to remember his father’s face now?

A soldier had shouted “We can’t hold it anymore! It's coming!”

People ran. The man holding Jack’s arm ran, and Jack was pulled along several steps before he broke free. The man did not turn back for him.

Ahead of him, in the forest, a figure rose above the tallest trees, then, with a sound like ice cracking, the trees parted like a stand of tall grass. A woman with blood-red skin loomed there, hair aflame, arms raised – six of them! And in each hand a gleaming sword as long as a man was tall.

The last of the villagers fled before the thing, but not Jack’s mother. Tears streaming down her face, she turned toward the creature. “Abomination!” she shouted. “Turn from this place!”

The creature laughed, a shrill noise like steam escaping from a kettle. Smoke billowed from the ground she stood upon, as if the grass was burning at her touch, and Jack noticed that where her legs should be there was instead a scaly, coiling tail, like the body of a snake. The creature spoke. “Fool woman! You cannot defeat me! The time of prophecy has come! You will die first!”

“No!” Jack shouted.

His mother turned at the sound, eyes wide with horror to see him there, and in that moment the creature charged.

Jack was momentarily blinded by a flash of light. When his eyes adjusted, he saw the creature towering over his mother, straining against a wall of crackling white light – his mother’s power. The force of the creature had driven his mother to her knees. With one hand, she held the wall, with the other she reached beneath her robes, pulling forth a talisman that Jack had never seen before.

The creature laughed that whistling laugh again. “You’re weak, witch! What makes you think you can defeat me?”

His mother smirked, raising the talisman high. It hummed with power, glowed like the sun. She said, “Behold the power of Light!”

The creature screamed. The light of the talisman grew and enveloped it, leaving the creature glowing like a log in a dying fire, orange embers inside rapidly blackening skin. The screaming reached a terrible crescendo, so that Jack’s ears rang when it finally stopped.

He ran to his mother then, threw his arms around her, crying out for her. “Momma, come on!” he said, trying to pull her away, but she was too weak to follow. “Please, momma!”

“Run, Jack,” she said weakly, but he wouldn’t leave her.

Then the creature moved. Crisp flakes of skin broke off and crumbled to ash as it did, but still it moved, a roar of rage starting low and growing in volume and ferocity.

Jack’s mother shouted, “No!”

There was heat.

There was light.

Then there was nothing.

Jack remembered being alone on a rocky hill. There was a rumbling above him, like distant thunder, but when he looked up he saw only the gray slopes of the mountain and the curl of smoke rising from its peak.

He’d called, “Momma?” and taken one halting step.

The ground clinked beneath his foot, and he’d looked down to see his mother’s talisman. When he reached for it, he noticed the charred skin on his hand, the way his ruined tunic hung off of his shoulders in scorched tatters, but he didn’t remember feeling any pain then. “Momma?” he repeated. “Momma!”

But there had been no answer.

In all of his nightmares later, he remembered how his own voice had echoed back to him, alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ten years ago, when my brother died, I broke out my copy of Final Fantasy I and replayed it. It was a game my brother and I had often played together, taking turns grinding levels and deciding where to explore, and after the funeral I buried my grief in the simple yet familiar story. But as I played, trying to focus on anything other than what I was going through in my real life at the time, I asked myself questions about the game's plot: Where did the Warriors of Light come from? How did they come by the orbs? How did their journey affect them?_   
>  _This is the story I told myself. It's a long story, covering the whole game, and I've had ten years to think about it. I hope you enjoy it. Expect a new chapter every Friday night by 9:00pm (CT)._


	2. Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Relevant soundtrack: Town by Nobuo Uematsu. Click[here](https://youtu.be/uHkiet4GVTU) to check out a lovely classical guitar arrangement on YouTube._

_“The world is veiled in Darkness._

_The wind stops, the sea is wild, and the earth begins to rot._

_The people wait, their only hope, a prophecy:_

_When the world is in darkness, the Light Warriors will come.”_

* * *

In the library of Cornelia's White Hall, she sat in a window that faced the sea. This morning, there had been a ship on the horizon, but it had docked by now, its high mast just visible above the shops in the lower town. She wasn’t looking at the ship anyway – one ship is much like any other. No, she was looking at her charm.

It was sea glass, worn into an almost perfect sphere, caught in a web of thin cord, like a net meant to catch very small fish. She wore it on her wrist on a bracelet of woven twine and she twisted it around and around so that the bauble caught the light and reflected it back in blue and green waves, like the sea.

“Lena? Have you heard anything I’ve said?”

She started at the sound of her name and looked up to see Father Branford, white robes freshly starched, white eyebrows wild above his ever-present smile. She always had trouble looking him in the eye, with those eyebrows to contend with. “I’m sorry, Father. I was distracted.”

“Ah, yes,” said Father Branford, radiating mirth. “Thinking of going for a swim?”

Lena nodded, blushing. By now, it was obvious to her instructors, and a source of much amusement for them, that she couldn’t go more than a handful of days without a good swim, not and still be an attentive pupil. The constant press of so many people around her built up in her head like a buzzing noise - the water was the only thing that could quiet it down.

The only difficulty lie in finding a good place to swim. At home, a coastal village half a world away, she could practically step outside her door and dive in. Here, there was only one place she could go: a secluded corner of the harbor where the sea wall formed a sheltered area far from both the docks and the harbor mouth. She could have swum a straight line across the harbor to it in a matter of minutes but the dock area was considered unsafe for swimming. Instead, she had to circle around half the city to come at the harbor from the other side.

“That’s just why I was speaking to you. I have a potion here for a shopkeeper named Beebury, a chandler near Pike Street. Do you know the place?”

“I know Pike Street, Father.” It was near to her swimming spot.

“Good. Beebury’s shop is at the corner with the fountain shaped like a boar, the one that was damaged in the last quake. If you deliver the potion for me, I won’t expect to see you back until third chime. How would that be?”

Lena nodded again. It would be plenty of time.

She set out toward Pike Street with her head down, white hood raised. People were amiable toward white mages, many muttering friendly greetings as she passed, but none would stop a fully hooded mage who walked with a purpose – the hood meant business.

Of course, she’d taken to wearing it whenever she went out for any reason. If it had been up to her, she would never have gone out at all, not during the day when everyone else was about. It wasn’t that she was unfriendly, or disliked people – goodness, she loved people! A white mage’s power thrived on a love of people – but there were so many. Lena hadn’t been able to adjust to city life after – what had it been? – seven years now. So many people, with so many emotions. She tried to shut them out as she walked, but some days it was difficult.

The guard house nearest White Hall had been damaged during the last quake – or was it the one before that? – and Lena could sense the repairmen, two brothers, arguing again, though she didn’t know what about.  Behind it, Black Hall loomed, angular and intimidating, but nearly empty. Only a few elderly black mages remained there. The practice of black magic had been outlawed in Cornelia for years, so that any young person who discovered a talent for black magic had to leave the city for their training. Still, most people crossed the street rather than walk near the place. Their fear and suspicion wafted toward Lena like smoke.

It saddened her. Lena had gone to Black Hall often with Father Branford to Cure the ailments that came with old age. Despite the rumors that their dark practices were somehow causing the quakes and the storms that had been devastating the countryside lately, the black mages that Lena knew were kind. Some had even advised the king on the nature of the current disasters. The law against practicing black magic didn’t forbid studying its theory, and many of those who had honed their craft before the ban were respected by the king, if not his council.

Farther on, she cut across the fish market, trying not to touch anyone – it was crowded, but it was the shortest path to Pike Street. People were discussing the quakes with a mixture of acceptance and fear. The surge of emotions was nearly overwhelming, but with a moment’s concentration she was able to shut out most of them. “Biggest one yet,” she heard someone say. “I’m surprised the castle wasn’t damaged.”

Someone else said, “First ship we’ve seen in a week,” and that caught her attention. She was often absorbed in her studies and didn’t pay much mind to gossip, but that seemed the sort of thing she should have noticed. Even the harbor in her tiny home village saw more than one ship a week. Had travel really grown so treacherous?

She turned toward the speakers, a dockhand and a fishmonger. The dock worker said, “Could be you won’t see another one for several weeks more. I heard the captain say the mouth of the bay collapsed behind them – it was just after that other quake, the bigger one.”

Now that was concerning. Her own home was well beyond the Aldean Sea – if the bay was closed off, the journey was nearly impossible. Not that she was free to return home with her studies unfinished, but still, she had always been able to send and receive word. She wanted to go to the docks and talk to the captain, ask him what exactly he’d seen…

She felt the commotion in the crowd before she heard it, the ripple of alarm and curiosity, then the murmurs of surprise. She heard a man shout, “Thief!” and turned toward the sound, directly into the path of a young boy, who ran right into her, knocking her down.

She landed painfully on her backside, losing her grip on Mr. Beebury’s potion, which landed beside her with a crunch of breaking glass. She spared it no thought. She was a white mage, after all, and her first instinct was to check on the boy, who had fallen just as hard as she had.

He was perhaps ten or eleven, small, with a cheeky grin and bright, smiling eyes. He appeared to be alright. “Excuse me,” he said quickly, pushing up to his feet. A single step found him slipping in the spilled potion and coming down hard on his hands and knees.

“Be careful!” Lena said. “The glass!” She felt hands behind her, helping her up – the dockworker she’d been listening to. When she’d steadied herself, she reached a hand down toward the boy, but he was suddenly and roughly snatched away.

A man in a long black coat held the boy roughly by his shirt front in one black-gloved fist. The cut of the coat, along with the wooden staff strapped across the man’s back, declared him to be a black mage. Lena couldn’t see his face – what features weren’t obscured by his high collar and wide-brimmed hat were covered by a gray scarf pulled up over his mouth and nose – but his eyes glowed with fire. Not a real flame, like the one that bloomed even now in his other hand, dancing over but not consuming the glove, but the fiery aurora of black magic. Onlookers shrank back from the display, leaving her alone in an ever-widening circle with the man and the hapless boy. She watched the man – the black mage – lift his hand high as if he would strike the boy with the fire, and she felt his sharp stab of anger.

“No!” Lena cried.

But the man only shouted, “Return it! Now!”

The boy extended a trembling hand and Lena saw that he was clutching a small pouch. The fire winked out as the black mage snatched it back. Relief flooded over her – her own, the boy’s, and, she was surprised to realize, the mage’s, as he hefted the bag in his hand to check its contents and apparently found them in order.

She had no time to wonder what was so important to him, however, as a contingent of guards swarmed into the market, swords drawn, surrounding them.

“Drop him!” one said.

The mage immediately complied, hands raised in an unthreatening gesture. Lena rushed the few steps to the boy, checking him for injuries. “Are you alright?” she asked.

The boy only nodded, too frightened to speak.

One of the guards lowered his sword and approached the boy. “Thadius Shipman,” he said, clapping the boy companionably on the shoulder, though Lena saw that he gripped it ever so slightly in case the boy might run. “We meet again so soon.”

The boy grimaced. “Hello, Carmine.”

“Guardsman Carmine,” the guard corrected.

“Yes, sir.”

The other guards encircled the black mage. One of them barked, “Black magic is forbidden within city walls, mage!” but as he spoke, Lena became aware of a low humming, like distant thunder that went on and on. It wasn’t an earthquake, but she felt it in her bones. As she looked around for the source of it, she caught the black mage’s eye and knew he felt it too.

She started to say something, but his eyes darted down to her side and locked on something there. She looked down, and saw a light. In its cord on her wrist, her lucky charm glowed blue. It hummed louder - for it was the source of the humming she’d felt - when she lifted it up for a better look.

Beside her, a second hum resonated with her own. Another glow drew her eye to the yellow jewel in the pommel of the young guardsman’s sword. “What…” he started to ask, but the hum grew in volume, drowning him out.

She looked toward the boy, whose eyes grew wide as his belly began to glow green. Shrugging off the guard’s unresisting hand, he reached into his collar, pulling a long chain out from beneath his shirt. On the end of the chain, Lena saw, he had his own lucky charm, identical to her own but for the color.

She looked between the boy and the guard and then, though she didn’t know why, she looked toward the mage. As if her gaze was an invitation, he stepped slowly toward her. One of the guards, braver than the others, protested and stepped forward to stop him, but his words were drowned out by the hum and one of his companions pulled him back.

The black mage stood right in front of her now, staring at her lucky charm. He tore his gaze away long enough to open the pouch he had lately retrieved from the boy, to pour it out into his hand. Though his face was still covered, she could read shock and wonder in his eyes. Another jewel glowed in his gloved palm, red as the fire he’d summoned before. The hum intensified in both pitch and volume, causing some of the guards to cover their ears in a vain attempt to block it out, but it wasn’t a true sound. The light grew brighter, each jewel’s glow flowing into and mixing with the others until all Lena could see was a blinding whiteness.

And then, quite suddenly, it stopped, leaving them in the harbor market square as if nothing had ever happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hi. Thank you for joining me for chapter 2. One of the things I've enjoyed about the Final Fantasy series over the years is the music. I have all the soundtracks and many of the tribute albums (piano versions and the like), and I'm a huge supporter of OC Remix. As I've also been putting a lot of time into Theatrhythm Final Fantasy: Curtain Call lately, I had the idea to name each chapter in this story after a Final Fantasy song and provide a link in the intro notes. There may not always be a song that is both appropriate to the content AND with an applicable title, but we'll see how long I can keep this up. Even if the chapter/song titles don't work out, I'll still throw you a few song links every week. Feel free to message me your favorites. I hope you come back next Friday for chapter 3._


	3. Cornelia Castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Cornelia Castle by Nobuo Uematsu. Click[here](https://youtu.be/iv9VEDFJ1z0) to check out an amazing cover by Epic Game Music on YouTube. You should check out his other stuff while you're there. _

Kane leaned back on the bench, resting his head against the wall behind him, his long legs stretched out in front and crossed at the ankles. To his left, the wide wooden double doors to the throne room opened and shut at intervals, as servants or messengers came and went, often returning with stately, official-looking men: historians from the university, mages from White Hall, members of the mage council. Every time the door opened, sounds of raised voices carried out, but Kane had given up on trying to hear anything. They’d been there at least two hours, surrounded by guards he’d eaten breakfast with only hours before.

Despite the situation, Kane was more or less at ease - it was nice being back in the castle for the first time in weeks. The bench’s other occupants seemed much less comfortable.

On his right, Thadius Shipman sat rather closer to him than Kane thought was strictly necessary, leaving a large space between himself and the black mage on the right end of the bench. Shipman, a scrawny boy of ten, was a familiar figure to Kane. The guard had picked up the boy for petty theft more than once, though he was always released with a warning later. Shipman, apprenticed to some tailor or other who praised his nimble fingers, was charming and good-hearted but seemed unable to stop his nimble fingers from stealing whatever wasn't nailed down. He generally returned the goods afterward, often without being asked. He’d become almost a mascot for Kane’s garrison, which patrolled the harbor market and ran into him most often.

The other two, though, Kane had never seen before. The tight-lipped black mage, he’d learned from his fellow guards, had arrived on the ship that morning. It had been a tasteless joke on the part of captain and crew not to inform him of Cornelia’s strict laws against black magic. Distasteful, perhaps, but black mages weren’t popular in Cornelia these days. Besides, this mage had got off lightly: had he been wandering that same market after evening chime, Kane might have been fishing his corpse out of the harbor the next morning. No one had mentioned his name, and Kane wasn’t about to ask. With his staff leaning against the wall beside the bench, and with his arms crossed over his chest, broad hat pulled down to cover his face, the mage’s even breathing seemed consistent with a man asleep, but Kane wasn’t fooled: the mage’s breath caught ever so slightly whenever the door opened, as if the man listened intently to every word that drifted out into the hall.

On his left, between him and the door, the white mage girl trembled as if she were cold, but Kane suspected it was fear that shook her so. She had said her name was Lena, and though he’d learned from the guards that she’d lived in the city for several years, he’d never seen her before – he was sure he would have remembered her, with her curly hair as red as his own. It wasn’t a common color in these parts. The way she huddled within her white hood, he supposed he could have passed her on the street dozens of times and never noticed; he likely had, given that he was stationed in the guard house nearest White Hall.

As he wondered about it, the girl’s trembling became more pronounced. There was a soft sniffling, as of someone trying very hard to cry quietly. His guard friends shifted uncomfortably in their places flanking the bench. Kane moved closer to the girl, touching her lightly on the knee. “Are you alright?” he asked her.

Lena shook her head, but said nothing. He suspected she’d sob aloud if she tried to speak.

“Look, it’s okay,” he said. “My father works for the king. He’s in there right now. He’ll see we’re taken care of.”

When the girl spoke, Kane was surprised by the control in her voice, though it was hoarse with tightly held emotion. “But what have we done wrong? Why are we being held like this?” she said.

He noted the subtle changes in the black mage’s posture that indicated the man was listening closely for Kane’s reply, but it was Shipman who answered.

“We’re probably not in trouble. They’re protecting us,” the young thief said. The girl looked over at him. So did Kane. So did the black mage, for that matter, hat tilting up to expose his eyes at last. The boy writhed uncomfortably under their stares. He said, “Well, it’s true. They’re not watching us. They’re watching for other people.”

A guard near the door looked sidelong at the boy, who stuck out his tongue in response.

Kane couldn’t stop a chuckle at the show of disrespect before he reined in his humor. He heard a snort from the other end of the bench, as if the black mage as well had been too late to stifle a laugh, and a rapid glance at the mysterious mage’s eyes above the scarf covering his face confirmed it, though the mage composed himself quickly. He looked back at Kane with eyes that, now that Kane got a good look at them, seemed not much older than his own. As he looked, the mage gave him the briefest of nods, as if to say, “I see you too.”

Kane cleared his throat and spoke to the frightened girl, “The boy’s right. He should know how the guard corps works by now – he spends enough time in our company.”

The door to the throne room opened once again and Kane’s father emerged. The guards stepped aside for Lord Redden with respectful nods. Kane leapt to his feet and embraced him without hesitation. “Father!”

His father pushed him away, gently, looking him in the eye. The old man looked grim and care-worn: his elaborate red silk cloak was creased as if he’d been sitting on it all morning, the feathered hat that was a red mage’s symbol of office was carried under one arm rather than worn, and the normally jaunty plume of the hat appeared to have been sadly squashed at some point during the meeting.

Kane found it unsettling. While he had never once used his father’s position to his advantage, preferring to earn his own way, he had spent the better part of two hours believing that, whatever was going on in that throne room, his father was in there sorting it out for them. Now, it seemed that was not the case. “Father, what’s going on?”

“It’s not good, Kane.”

“But what…”

The door opened again before Kane could form the question. Father Todd, one of the four white mage high priests and a member of the mage council, strode toward them, followed by Orin, the king’s advisor. “The time of the prophecy is at hand!” Father Todd declared. “The orbs have surfaced.”

As Father Todd approached, Kane sensed movement behind him as the black mage stood, gripping his staff. The guards moved in, but only to keep the priest back, not to stop the mage, just as Shipman had said earlier. Father Todd glared at them, but the guards held their ground, and Kane’s guardsman heart swelled with pride at his fellows. Father Todd scowled, but couldn’t speak to mere guardsmen without sacrificing his dignity. He thrust out his hand between the guards. “Give them to me!”

Neither Kane nor the black mage moved, though Shipman and Lena huddled together on the bench now that Kane was no longer between them. The silence went on so long that Kane was not the only one who startled when Orin’s deep voice rumbled, “No.”

The high priest turned. “What?”

Orin, a monk from the far northern desert, shook his head. “The orbs have chosen their warriors.”

Kane wasn’t sure he’d heard that properly. “Come again?”

Orin started to say something else but Father Todd interrupted him, his face screwing up in anger. “Orin, you cannot possibly believe the Light would choose the likes of these!” He pointed a hand each at Kane and Lena, snarling, “Inexperienced apprentices?” He then pointed at Shipman, “And this one probably stole his from its rightful place!”

Shipman leaped up, saying, “It was my grandpa’s!” Lord Redden restrained the boy with a gentle yet firm hand on his shoulder.

Father Todd ignored the outburst. His snarl became more pronounced as he pointed at the black mage, “And a servant of the very darkness we oppose.”

The black mage made no move, but spoke quietly, and his voice was anger turned to ice. “I serve no one.” At his tone, the guards surrounding them each took a step away.

Orin held his hands up, separating the high priest from them with the gesture. “You cannot argue with fate. However the orbs were acquired, they were brought together by these four and it is through these four that they made their sign.” He turned to the guards. “Bring them before the king.”

Kane walked in a haze of disbelief as the four of them were escorted into the throne room like visiting dignitaries – or, he couldn’t help but think, like condemned criminals. He felt awkward entering through the great double doors; he was more accustomed to the smaller door, down a side passage farther along the hall, that was more often used by servants and family. Kane supposed he was both. He tried to keep his head held high as he followed Orin and his father, keeping step with the clicking of his father’s boots on the stone tiled floor. The black mage walked beside him, Shipman and Lena following.

On a raised dais, the king and queen sat upon their thrones, their faces as familiar to Kane as his own father’s. Courtiers and nobles lined the walls on either side, though there was only one he cared about. She, of course, was on the dais with her parents. He was aware that she was there – he’d glimpsed her from the corner of his eye - but his focus was first drawn to King Cascius, his father’s oldest and dearest friend, who looked at Kane now as if he’d never seen him before.

Orin bowed low and gestured toward the four of them. “Your majesty, I present to you, the warriors of light.”

 _So this is really happening_ , he thought. Everyone else seemed as surprised as he was. Muttering filled the room like a rising ocean wave, cries of fear and despair mingled with hope and excitement. Kane’s gaze wandered over the crowd, taking in the expressions on the courtiers faces, and then somehow he was staring at Princess Sarah, who, for her part, was staring back at him. She seemed pale. Was she… Had she been worried about him? He hadn't seen her in so long, he thought for sure she would be angry.

The king’s voice cut through the restless crowd, silencing it. “Does anyone else have anything to say?”

“Haven’t we said enough this morning?” Lord Redden asked bluntly, earning him a glare from the king. A few courtiers murmured at his tone.

But Father Todd bustled in from behind them, having followed them into the throne room. “Your majesty, I must protest. The orbs are the key to power beyond our imagining. They cannot be entrusted to untested youths.”

Several voices muttered their assent, but one rang out smooth and clear above the courtiers. From his seat near the throne, General Garland said, “I agree, your majesty. Let me choose more appropriate bearers from among my finest warriors.”

Kane’s face flushed with shame. There was no love lost between Garland and his father – it was why Kane had found himself posted at the harbor guardhouse instead of in the castle where he felt he belonged. Garland would never consider Kane to be one of his finest warriors, no matter how hard he trained.

He looked to the others. The poor white mage girl trembled noticeably. Her eyes were closed, as though she needed to close out the sight of so many eyes upon her. Shipman still stood close by her side, looking relieved and hopeful, probably at the thought of being spared of this new burden.

The black mage, however, looked like a hunted man. His hands gripped his staff in front of him, shoulders hunched as though he was trying to shrink out of sight. “Easy, friend,” Kane said, quietly.

“It was my mother’s,” the black mage said just as quietly to him.

“Speak up,” said the king. “If you have anything to say for yourselves, I would hear it.”

The black mage took a deep breath that seemed to steady him, then stepped forward, facing General Garland rather than the king, his voice strong and sure of his words. “I don’t know if this trinket is the orb of which you’ve spoken, but it’s all I have left of my home. I will fight you if you wish to take it from me.”

Kane knew every guard in the room was putting his hand to his sword. His own instinct to do so rose strong in him and he fought it down. Garland sprang to his feet, crying, “How dare you?”

But another voice cried, “Wait!”

From the room’s entrance, another white mage high priest, Father Branford, hurried in, out of breath as if he’d run all the way from White Hall. He was not a frequent visitor to the palace; Kane was surprised he’d even been sent for. Branford approached the black mage slowly, and still more slowly extended a hand to his shoulder in a gesture of friendship. Kane heard him tell the mage, “We don’t need to take this path,” then he addressed the king. “May I speak, your majesty?”

At the king’s slight nod, Branford addressed the room at large. “Good people, many of you have heard me often say there is no such thing as fate, but today I have reason to doubt those beliefs. I have studied the legend of the prophecy: these orbs were hidden in the four corners of the earth. For them to suddenly appear together in the harbor square, that means something.” The crowd muttered agreement. “The prophecy predicted that the Warriors of Light would appear in our darkest hour of need. The seas have grown unpredictable; the quakes wreak havoc on the city; more crops fail every season. Can anyone deny that our need is dire?”

More muttering answered his question.

“Today, we were shown a sign. These four have been called by the Light to deliver us from darkness. I believe, for my part, that my apprentice Lena is worthy of this task. Will anyone vouch for the others?”

Kane’s father looked at the king as he said, “I vouch for my son.”

Orin said, “And I will vouch for the boy.”

Garland scoffed. “Orin, the boy is a known thief.”

The monk only shrugged. “So was I at his age. I believe he is young enough that he can still be taught the right path.”

Kane turned toward the black mage again, who seemed poised to run but that Father Branford still gripped his shoulder. The priest nodded at the mage, then turned to the girl. “Lena,” he said, smiling genuinely, beckoning her to come closer. “Young man, I don’t know that you and my apprentice have been properly introduced. Lena was born a white mage, but in childhood she began to manifest a very rare talent…”

“Don’t, Father,” Lena said, softly, fearfully.

“I’m sorry, Lena. This is the only way.”

“What talent?” the mage asked harshly.

“Lena is a soul reader.”

The gasps that had gone through the crowd before were as nothing compared to this one. Kane’s eyes snapped back toward Princess Sarah, who looked to be on the verge of tears, and he knew she must be remembering the kind old white mage who had loved them like her own grandchildren: the king’s last soul reader, more than ten years gone now. Soul readers were rare, and a king who could call on one had the advantage in most matters of diplomacy.

“A soul reader!” Father Todd bellowed. “How long were you planning to keep this to yourself, Brother Branford? When were you planning to inform the king’s councilors?”

“She is only an apprentice,” Father Branford said.

“There is no training for soul reading! Her status as a white mage is irrelevant!”

“With respect,” Father Branford said with remarkable calm, “Lena is powerful enough that she would be a danger to herself, and potentially others, if she remained untrained. I did what I thought was best for her. May we continue?”

The king motioned him to do so. Branford gestured to the girl, stepping away from the mage so she could approach.

Lena said in her tremulous voice, “I’ll need to see your face,” and Kane turned toward the black mage, as by now he was curious what the man must look like underneath the mask.

Lena looked down at her feet, but the black mage stared at the top of her raised hood in seeming horror, as if he was frozen to the spot. Father Branford said softly, “If you come to us with a soul free of ill intent, she will know. Do not be afraid.”

Finally, the black mage closed his eyes, as if in resignation. He knelt to place his staff at his feet then straightened and, taking a deep breath, with one hand took the hat from his head, and with the other pulled down the scarf that hid his face, and Kane realized why the mage had hesitated so long.

Scars extended the length of his neck and across his jaw. On the left side, they extended up as high as his cheekbone, pulling his mouth up at that corner, though his nose seemed to be intact. Burn scars were unheard of in the city, as injuries by fire were easily healed by white magic, but they did happen in smaller villages that didn’t always have white mages available. Kane had seen plenty, and was just thinking to himself that this mage was not the worst among them, when the crowd around them began to take in the poor man’s appearance.

Women shrieked. Kane saw the black mage flinch at the sound. His eyes were still closed, but Kane saw him squeeze them tighter and knew the mage must feel ashamed - ashamed and humiliated.

It was at the sound of the shrieks that Lena looked up at the mage, and Kane saw understanding dawn on her. She did not react in horror, but reached a slim hand up to touch the black mage on the side of his face. The mage flinched at the touch, but opened his eyes. Kane thought the man might have been crying, but couldn’t be sure.

“What’s your name?” he heard Lena say.

“Jack.” The reply had been so quiet, he almost missed it.

Lena nodded. “This won’t hurt, Jack.” She placed her hands to either side of his face, and stared into his eyes. Her hands began to glow soft and white.

Then she gasped and slumped back, arms falling to her sides, hood falling open, and the black mage, Jack, threw his arms around her to steady her, but Father Branford forced his way between them, pulling the girl toward him. It had happened so fast, over almost as soon as it had begun.

Father Branford’s hands glowed in a quick cast of Cure, but the girl waved him away.

“I’m fine,” she said, thickly. Standing up straight, she faced the throne as behind her Jack was already pulling his scarf back into place and replacing his hat. “I will vouch for him,” Lena said, her voice strong and clear for the first time Kane had heard that day.

The king nodded to Orin, who announced in his low, rumbling voice, “Good people, I present to you the Warriors of Light!”

The crowd cheered. The guardsman nearest Kane clapped him on the shoulder, another knelt in front of Shipman the better to shake his hand. Kane saw a woman from the crowd nearby approach Lena, but Father Branford intercepted her, shaking his head. Lena turned and walked unsteadily out of the throne room. Father Branford said something to the other two guards who had escorted them, who nodded and turned to follow her. Other guards scrambled to open the door ahead of her.

Still being praised and buffeted by the closing crowd, Kane looked back toward the dais, toward Sarah, but Sarah sat at the edge of her seat, staring after the departing soul reader. In one swift movement, she rushed after the girl, crowd parting easily before her. As she brushed past, Kane saw tears in her eyes. He called out, “Sarah!”

It was too familiar. He knew it instantly, even without the affronted gasps of the courtiers to tell him so. Kane saw Lord Redden smack a palm to his forehead as though he couldn’t believe he had such a lout for a son.

She stopped, but didn’t turn to him. “You should address me as ‘princess’ in the presence of others, guardsman.” Oh, yes. Definitely angry at him.

Kane lowered his eyes. “Of course. Forgive me, princess.”

She hurried after Lena.

He watched through the doors, just before they swung shut, as the princess caught up to Lena, who in that moment broke down. He saw the princess wrap her arms around the girl and hold her as she cried. The doors closed with a resounding thud, snapping him back to the present.

His father had forced his way through the crowd and stood nearby, speaking politely to the nobles and merchants clamoring to shake his hand and wish him well. On one side, a contingent of guards who knew Shipman from his thievery were lifting him above their shoulders as the boy beamed. On the other side, the black mage, Jack, was receiving the same attention Kane was, no matter that mere minutes before the entire throne room had feared him. The word of a white mage was strong, but the word of a soul reader was irrefutable. If Lena had vouched for him…

Still, Kane wondered what Lena had seen that disturbed her so and, when he realized the black mage was still staring toward the closed doors through which Lena had parted, he wondered what she had seen that convinced her to vouch for him anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Character names are hard, particularly when you're limited to four characters at a time. The first time I played Final Fantasy I in the late 80s, my characters (fighter, thief, black mage, white mage) were named for what color they were wearing: Redd, Tann, Blak, and Whyt. I'm so bad at names. I'm the sort of person who, when playing a Zelda game, always names the main character Link. My late brother, though, always named his legendary hero Kane, so I've reused the name in his memory. You'll notice I've included "Redd" in there, through Kane's father Lord Redden. It seemed an appropriate name for a red mage. More on character names next Friday after chapter 4. I hope you'll be there!_


	4. You're Not Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: You’re Not Alone from Final Fantasy IX. Click[here](https://youtu.be/aYAMJD32sBo) to check out the Distant Worlds concert series arrangement over on YouTube._

Lena sat on the edge of the largest bed she’d ever seen, watching a bevy of servants set up a cot in a corner of Princess Sarah’s room. Even the cot was bigger than her bed at White Hall, the bedding upon it finer than anything she owned. The princess sat beside her, chattering away about everything and nothing. Lena found the constant stream of words oddly comforting, and the princess seemed to have picked up on that. She’d kept Lena occupied all afternoon, first with a lavish lunch, then with a tour of the palace gardens. Lena wasn’t used to such busyness, but she had rarely experienced the emotions of someone so open and so genuinely kind. It was refreshing.

A wave of curiosity rippled from the servants, who were listening to the princess’ words with great interest. “It’s only for a few days,” Sarah was saying, continuing a line of conversation Lena hadn’t been taking in. “Until your own rooms are prepared. You’ll love them! They’re quite near these, and I’ve requested some of the loveliest furnishings in the palace be moved there.” She squeezed Lena’s hand. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you here.”

Lena’s smile was forced. As much as she was enjoying Sarah’s company, she couldn’t help but feel trapped. The queen herself had explained it to her after lunch: a soul reader was too valuable an asset to leave at White Hall. The soul reader was to move to the palace. The soul reader’s few possessions had already been sent for. Father Branford would visit her here to continue her training as both his and her schedules allowed. It had all been arranged. The queen had referred to her as “soul reader” as though it were a title – she had never once used Lena’s name. Lena didn’t know how to tell them she wasn’t planning to live in the city forever, so she had said nothing.

With a snap of linens and thump of pillows, the servants finished their preparations. “Anything else, princess?” one asked as the others stood in a line behind her.

“No, Bodwhin. You may leave us.”

With an air of disappointment that they no longer had an excuse to eavesdrop, the servants bowed and filed out.

Lena looked over at the cot, at its rich blankets. “It’s so gorgeous,” she said, unable to keep the longing out of her voice. “But I can’t accept this. It’s against white mage custom to live in such luxury when others have nothing.”

The princess laughed lightly, but there was no scorn to it. “Not so! You can’t seek out such luxury for yourself, but when a gift is given freely, you should accept it with an open heart. Isn’t that right?”

Lena nodded. That was the true interpretation of the philosophy, she had to admit. She knew the high priests lived in rooms at least as opulent as this one. Mother Kendra, who had been a beauty in her youth and had outlived three husbands, had rooms that made these seem austere by comparison. “It is very generous of you.” She tried to imagine living in a beautiful room in the castle, but couldn’t. She cleared her throat to cover her embarrassment, then a question occurred to her. “How do you know white mage philosophy?”

The princess smiled, but her emotions betrayed the memory as bittersweet. “There was an old woman, years ago, a white mage, who was my father’s last soul reader. It was before the troubles with the Brotherhood, so she wasn’t needed often. When there were no official matters to attend to, she took care of me. Me and Kane.”

Lena thought back to the sturdy young man she’d met that morning. He, too, had been kind to her. “Kane? You mean Guardsman Carmine?”

Sarah nodded. “His father is the court bard. Kane was born here in the palace. We grew up together.”

There was both fondness and confusion there. Lena smiled. It wasn’t quite love, but it was a pleasant mix. Sometimes she enjoyed being able to sense the emotions of others. She wondered what she would sense if she mentioned the princess in front of the handsome guardsman.

A gentle hand on her arm brought her back to the present. The princess was looking at her with eyes full of concern. “You’ve come to us at a very bad time. I’m afraid you will have to read many souls for my father. I’m so sorry.”

Lena felt a flush overtaking her face. “You needn’t worry.” She ran a hand through her curly hair, pulling it over her shoulder and off of her neck. “Most souls are pleasant. They’re like points of light, like a flame burning inside someone. I can read the flame like a story, every emotion or memory that makes someone what they are, like a kaleidoscope picture. They… they’re usually beautiful.”

“But this morning,” the princess said, hesitating as if she wasn’t sure how to phrase the question. “Was it very terrible? What you saw when you… looked… at him?”

Lena thought back on what she’d seen: a little blue flame, staggeringly bright, surrounded by thick black bands, like scars on his soul, as if it had been ripped apart and forced back together over and over again. She couldn’t imagine what would have caused wounds so deep. It was obvious he’d lost both his home and family, but even that couldn’t account for what she’d seen. She looked up at the princess, who was still waiting for an answer, and nodded.

Sarah’s mouth contracted in a thin line, her emotions protective and fierce like an older sister’s might have been. “I wish you hadn’t had to meet a man like that.”

“No,” Lena said, realizing she had given Sarah the wrong idea. “It wasn’t his fault. He did nothing wrong. I wouldn’t have vouched for him otherwise.”

Sarah’s frown turned puzzled. “But you were so shaken afterward! I’m sure that isn’t normal.”

“It wasn’t. I’d never seen anything like it before. His soul is… well, broken, I guess you could say. It was a bit of a shock. I was surprised he was still standing.” Lena took a steadying breath. She tried to remember the beauty of it, the brightness of that flame amidst the chaos, blue like the ocean on a clear day.

“That does sound horrible,” Sarah said, putting an arm around her. “Can you mend it?”

Lena searched Sarah’s emotions, but the princess was serious. “Beg pardon?”

“Well, you’re a white mage, aren’t you? You heal broken things. That’s what you do.”

Lena smiled, looking at the floor. The princess didn’t understand how white magic worked, but Lena was touched at her sincerity. “This isn’t a skinned knee or a stubbed toe. This is a man’s soul we’re talking about here.”

The princess gave her shoulders a companionable squeeze. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

* * *

In another part of the castle, lower down and nearer the servants, Thad followed the monk, Orin, to his rooms. It had been the longest day, stuck in a boring room with uncomfortable chairs. Thad had sat in the center of the room with Carmine and the black mage – and didn’t he wish he’d never picked that particular pocket? – while a bunch of fat, old people asked them a million questions: about their homes, their families, why they were in the city. Mostly, they had asked about the orbs, where they had come from, and how Thad and the others had come by them. When they had gone through every question Thad could imagine, they started over, asking the same questions again.

They had also questioned other people. Carmine’s father had spoken at length on the guardsman’s behalf, as did several other guards and castle servants. The guardsman obviously had many friends – Thad was glad of that, as Carmine had always been nice to him. Conversely, the black mage had had no one to speak for him, except the captain of the ship he’d come in on, who had very little to say. The old people, who Orin had told him were the majority of the mage council, had badgered the black mage so thoroughly that Thad was sure he would get angry and set fire to the room, but the mage never even raised his voice.

Thad hadn’t had to talk about himself quite as much. Master Edward, the tailor he was apprenticed to, had been brought in to verify everything Thad told them about himself; the man had all but run away when he was finally dismissed. He didn’t look at Thad even once during the questioning, though he was right beside him. After that, Carmine and some of the other guards spoke for Thad as well. The monk, Orin, had stayed with him throughout it all, speaking tersely to the questioners if he didn’t like their tone. Thad had appreciated the monk’s presence, but still didn’t know why the strange foreigner was helping him.

When the meeting had ended, the monk had taken Thad to the kitchens and introduced him to the cook, a nice man, not much older than Master Edward, but comical. He’d given Thad nearly half a roast chicken to eat – a small one, but still nearly half! – and had told stories as Thad and Orin ate their meal, funny gossip about the castle servants that was just as good as anything he’d seen the strolling players put on at the spring festivals.

At the end of the hall, Orin stopped in front of a carved wooden door. “They’ve prepared a bed for you here. My own quarters are behind that door.” He indicated a door across the hall.

Thad looked at both doors and blinked in surprise. “Your quarters? You live with the servants?”

“Of course. I am the king’s servant, after all.”

“But you’re his advisor!”

“And the more I know about his commonest subjects, the better I can advise him.” The monk placed his hand on the knob of the carved door, but didn’t open it. “I forgot to ask, young Shipman, but can you read?”

Thad frowned. “Yes, my grandmother taught me. Why?”

“I was only curious,” said Orin, opening the door and motioning him inside.

Thad stopped, awestruck, in the doorway. He had never seen so many books in one place! The room seemed made of shelves. It was as big as the whole sitting room in his grandmother’s house had been – bigger! – but full of shelves that were full of books. He hadn’t known there were that many books in the whole world.

“Is this a library?” Thad asked in a hushed, reverent voice. He’d heard of libraries. His Pappy had told him he saw one on his travels once, and there was a legendary one in the storybook his grandmother had read to him when he was little.

Orin chuckled. “Not at all. This is only my personal collection. However, you are welcome to read any of them during your stay.”

Thad gazed at the collection in wonder. His grandparents had had only three books in their home. Master Edward had a single shelf with eight books on it, and he was considered wealthy for a tradesman. A room this size, with this many books, had to contain all the knowledge in the whole world. And he was welcome to read any of them. Anything he wanted to know, right here at his fingertips. What did he want to know? “Are there any…” he started to ask, hardly daring to hope.

“Yes?”

“Are there any with… pirates?”

Orin looked surprised. Thad wondered if it was the wrong thing to say. Would a Warrior of Light really read pirate stories? Should he have asked for something else? But then Orin smiled broadly. He walked to a shelf in the corner, near an oversized armchair, and pulled from it a thick volume which he handed to Thad.

The book was old, its leather cover cracking with age. As Thad flipped through it, the pages turned easily. It had obviously been read many times. There were even pictures. He looked up at the monk, who still smiled.

“You remind me of myself, young Shipman,” Orin said, his foreign accent subtle, but still there. “So I know you will ignore me when I tell you not to stay up reading all night.”

“Yes, sir.”

The monk laughed as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

It was late when Kane finally made his way back to the set of rooms he had once shared with his parents. His father, widowed five years ago, had lived there alone since Kane had been stationed at the harbor guardhouse. After this morning’s events, though, when Kane and the others had been declared Warriors of Light, the king had ordered them all to stay in the castle until the mage council could figure out what to do with them.

As if the debacle in the throne room hadn’t been bad enough, the series of hearings that followed had been excruciating. He, the mage Jack, and the boy Shipman had been subjected to questions and lectures from both the mage council and the king’s advisors for hours on end. The mage had been questioned more than Kane and Shipman – it was obvious that the council didn’t trust him. Had Shipman not fallen asleep in his chair, prompting Orin to persuade the king to release them for the evening, they might be in there still. Kane understood that, as a soul reader, the girl Lena was above the need for such an interview, but even so he fought against a rising feeling of resentment at the unfairness of it all.

He had immediately gone looking for Sarah. He couldn’t wrap his mind around being a Warrior of Light and needed, desperately, to talk it over with a friend. Maybe things had been a little awkward between them since he’d left, but he had always been able to talk to her about anything. Instead, he’d passed Bodwhin in the hall and learned that Sarah had already retired to her bed, though it had still been early. He doubted she was asleep, had gone as far as the hallway outside her chambers, but couldn’t screw up the courage to knock on her door. Instead, he’d taken the stairs to the ramparts and stood on the wall, staring out across the city until the sun had set completely. Only then did he make his way back to his father’s rooms.

Not fully a year in the harbor guardhouse and already these were his father’s rooms, no longer “his” rooms. It was strange to think about. Kane hadn’t always got along with his father, particularly after his mother died, but ever since he had joined the guard corps against Lord Redden’s wishes, he felt that their respect for each other had grown. Lord Redden was known throughout the kingdom as both a scholar and a poet, had even developed some minor skill in both black and white magics through diligent study. It wasn’t that Kane disrespected his father’s good name and reputation in the court; it was that he, Kane, wanted to make a name for himself.

He opened the door without knocking, still quite at home even if he no longer lived there, and was surprised to see Jack standing in the outer sitting room. The mage turned at the sound of the door, regarding him with startled, wary eyes. He was in his long coat and scarf still, as he had been all day, not once removing the heavy coverings during the tedious, stifling meetings. The two of them stared at each other, neither moving.

“Ah, Kane! I wondered when you’d arrive!” Lord Redden emerged from his bed chamber, carrying a book and a heavy blanket. “Here you are then,” he said, handing the items to Jack. “Though you’re welcome to prepare a fire in the hearth, if you’d rather.”

“I never sleep with a fire,” the mage said. His voice was quiet, steady. Kane had been surprised throughout their interview at the calmness of it – it was hard to believe this was the man who had caused a magical panic in the harbor square that morning.

Lord Redden stopped short. “No, I imagine you don’t. Forgive me.”

Jack merely bowed his head in response.

Lord Redden addressed Kane as he said, “I’ve invited Jack to stay with us.”

“Oh?” Kane said, fighting back disappointment. First he hadn’t been able to talk to Sarah, and now he couldn’t speak privately with his father either. Lord Redden had been at the meetings, after all. Who better to hash out the Warrior of Light situation with him? He began to say “Why…” but stopped himself, changing it after a brief hesitation to, “Where exactly?”

“Your mother’s sitting room. I’ve had a bed prepared.”

“Surely the king would have prepared him his own rooms?”

Redden’s eyebrows drew together in warning. He said, “The king would have, had I not stopped him. I invited Jack here myself. I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

Jack shifted uncomfortably, his eyes creased in worry. It was amazing, Kane thought, the amount of expression the man could get across with half his face covered. “I won’t be any bother,” he said, his voice just on the edge of begging.

 _He expects me to send him away,_ Kane thought. _This is a prophesied Warrior of Light and he still expects me to send him away._ Instead, Kane, who didn't feel much like a prophesied Warrior himself, stepped forward, extending a hand to the black mage. “You’re not any bother,” he said, looking Jack in the eye, seeing the relief writ plain there. “I was simply surprised that you would care to share our humble rooms. Please, make yourself at home. I’m at your service.”

Jack’s grip, when he shook Kane’s hand, was firm.

 _I’m not the only one,_ Kane thought. “I wonder if you’d sit and talk with me awhile, Jack. I seem to have a lot on my mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _As I said last week, I'm terrible at coming up with character names. I knew the Fighter character would be "Kane," because my late brother liked it, and I knew I'd fit "Redd" in there somewhere, but the others were a mystery to me. It was important to me that the names only be four letters long, as that's what you're limited to in the game. While I was thinking of that, I realized "Kane" was pretty similar to "Kain" from FFIV, so I borrowed "Lena"/"Lenna" from FFV (one of the best games in the series, in my opinion), and "Orin"/"Auron" from FFX. More on other names as we go along._   
>  _Also, regarding this week's suggested soundtrack, if you're an FF fan who hasn't listened to any of the Distant Worlds stuff, you're missing out. Look them up!_


	5. Kids Run Through the City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Kids Run Through the City from Final Fantasy VI. Click[here](https://youtu.be/nFN0091wRww) to check out the version from the album “Piano Collections: Final Fantasy VI” over on YouTube. _

Thad didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him that being a legendary Warrior of Light would require him to train as a warrior. Seemed obvious, really. He had plenty of time to think about it as he lay on the padded floor of the wide room off of the armory.

The book had been fascinating, a history of piracy along the Aldean coast, with tales of the exploits of the most legendary pirates. Some of the words had been new to him, but most of it was simple enough, and the pictures helped. In hindsight, however, sleep would have been more helpful.

“Again,” Orin said from above him. “Concentrate this time.”

A boy roughly his own size that Orin had introduced as Matteo helped him to his feet – only fair, as he  was the one who had flung Thad to the floor in the first place. Matteo was training to be a guardsman, learning the bare-handed fighting style Orin’s people in the northern desert had invented. Orin was not the only monk employed by the castle, it seemed, as he stood off to the side chatting with two others who apparently worked with the guard corps. The three were all dressed the same, in loose pants under open fronted tunics secured by a knotted sash, but Orin seemed by far the oldest, his long black hair peppered with gray.

Thad faced Matteo and tried again. The boy wasn’t fast; Thad knew he could counter the move if only he could figure out how it worked, but he couldn’t get his arms and legs to work together.

He hit the floor again, growling in frustration.

“Thank you, Matteo. That will be all,” Orin said.

Matteo bowed and scampered away. The other monks quietly exchanged words with Orin, following Matteo out the side door to the training yard where several other trainees practiced with wooden weapons. Thad turned and groaned when he found Carmine standing against a wall behind him. “Were you watching?”

The red-headed guard nodded. “Not bad for your first day.”

“I’ve spent half the morning in the floor.”

Carmine nodded again. “Typical first day.”

“I’ve asked Kane to instruct you in the use of a sword,” Orin explained.

Thad almost asked “Who?” but stopped himself. Kane was Carmine’s given name. Thad had heard it often enough at the hearings yesterday. Well, that was going to take getting used to. Then the rest of what Orin had said caught up with him. “Wait, did you say I get to use a sword?”

Kane chuckled. “Honestly, I don’t know if there’s anything small enough for you in the armory. We don’t normally start the boys on sword work until they’re a bit taller than you. Come on. Let’s see what we can find.”

They spent most of an hour searching. Thad tried several different swords, all too long, too heavy, or too large for his grip. Orin and Kane directed him through simple exercises with each one. “Don’t think it’s the wrong sword for you just because you can’t use it now,” Kane said. “You’ll work up to it.”

After some digging, Orin found one that seemed perfect. Thad took it eagerly, and was able to complete the exercises at last. This one wasn’t too heavy, not much longer than his arm. The blade was broader than he expected, but he was able to swing it easily with one hand. “Oh, wow! My own sword!” he said.

“More of an over-sized dagger, really,” said Kane. “It’ll do for now. Let’s go out to the training yard and I’ll show you what to do with it.”

They moved toward the outer door, but Kane stopped so suddenly that Thad ran into him. He peeked out from behind the guardsman and saw the white mage he’d met yesterday.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m looking for Lord Orin. I was told he was here.”

Kane backed up, pushing Thad along with him. Orin stepped forward to greet the girl. “Is everything alright, my lady?”

“I’m not a… that is… it’s Lena. Just Lena.”

“How can I help you, Lena?”

Lena took a deep breath and launched into an explanation. “I was with the princess. But I need to go to the harbor, to the cove near Pike Street, and the guards wouldn’t let us out of the gate.”

“Oh?” said Orin. He and Kane glanced at each other then turned their attention back to the girl. “Did they say why?”

Lena shook her head. “Just that the king had ordered them not to let us through. The Warriors of Light, I mean. But I need out. It’s… I just need out.”

The old monk held up a hand to forestall her. “Father Branford explained your habits to me, my lady. I believe I understand.”

The girl smiled in relief. “Just Lena,” she said again.

“Of course.”

“Where is the princess now?” Kane asked.

“She said she was going to talk to her father.”

“Excuse me,” Kane said, brushing past her and out the door.

Lena gazed after him, a faint smile on her face, as if she’d just heard a joke, but Thad didn’t see anything funny about being trapped in the castle.

Orin said, “But she told you to come and see me, did she?”

Lena nodded.

“Surely the king won’t object if I escort you on your errand. Come, young master Shipman, I think we could all stand some fresh air.”

* * *

Lena wasn’t able to hold back once they reached the water. She flung off her white robe, revealing the short tunic she wore underneath, and ran headlong into the cove, kicking off her sandals as she went. She swam all the way to the harbor mouth; when she looked back, the boy, Thadius, hadn’t even finished removing his boots.

She hadn’t known what to expect when the elderly monk led them to the palace kitchens. After a quick word from Orin, the cook had packed them a lunch of bread, fruit, and cheese, then led them through the larders and out into a courtyard. The guards on the outer gate there did nothing to stop them – apparently, the orders regarding the Warriors of Light had not been passed on to the service entrance, something the princess must have suspected when she’d sent Lena to find Orin.

Lena swam to the harbor mouth and back three times before her head finally began to feel clear, the pressures of the city falling away, the buildup of others’ emotions fading at last. Swimming back now, she regarded her companions with her full attention for the first time. On shore, Orin conducted a series of graceful exercises, flowing slowly from one stance to another in the bare-handed fighting style of his people. Thadius floated leisurely near the beach. She’d noticed the boy paddling in the shallows as she passed by, too poor of a swimmer to follow her. It was only a mildly warm day, not really hot enough for swimming, but he hadn’t passed up the chance to play in the water.

He _was_ a playful child. She had seen that when she bumped into him in the street. Children’s souls stood out more; it was no effort at all to read him. She could read him from here: pent up energy, worry – at being named a Warrior of Light, perhaps? – and again that same playful nature she’d seen before. Very well, then.

She managed to swim up beside him without drawing his attention, and splashed him thoroughly. He yelped in surprise, getting his feet under him, grinning as he hurried to return the favor. She ducked under at the last second, swimming up behind him and splashing him again before he realized where she’d gone. She didn’t duck this time when he turned to face her, the two of them beating the water to froth as they splashed one another, on and on until they were both out of breath from laughing. His happiness in that moment warmed her heart.

Orin called them in for lunch, so the two of them walked back to dry land. “You swim so fast!” Thadius said, as Orin divided the food.

“I could teach you,” she said. “It’s all about your technique. I used to swim every day back home, so I had lots of practice.”

The boy smiled, pleased at her offer. “I’d like that,” he said.

The three of them ate in silence. Orin, who ate very little, walked farther up the beach when he finished his meal and settled himself cross-legged, facing the water, but with his eyes closed. Lena had heard of the northern monks’ meditation exercises but had never seen them before. She could sense the change in his emotions immediately, a calmness she envied. Perhaps she would ask Orin about the exercises later. Now, however, she detected a strong wave of curiosity from the boy beside her. She smiled, anticipating a barrage of questions, and turned to him.

He grinned up at her, charming as only a child can be. “Where are you from?”

“A fishing village far away from here. Have you ever heard of Onlac?”

He shook his head.

“Most people haven’t. It’s very small. What about you? Where are you from?”

“Pravoka. It’s east of here.”

“I know where that is,” said Lena. “I’ve never been there, but I’ve seen it on maps.”

The boy seemed pleased that she knew the place. He kept smiling, but she could sense the turmoil inside him as he fought against his curiosity and the urge to ask a question which he thought might possibly be rude. She waited, expecting what came next when the curiosity won out. “What’s a soul reader?” he asked.

She smiled, to put him at ease. “It means I can look inside a person and see everything that makes them who they are.”

“You did that to the black mage yesterday?”

There was an undercurrent of fear there that saddened her. No one else could see the bright soul she had seen. She hoped her smile didn’t falter as she considered how best to respond. She kept it simple. “His name is Jack. You don’t need to be afraid of him. He won’t hurt you.”

She could sense his doubt, but already the curiosity was building again. “Can you read me?”

“I already have.”

And here the curiosity crested like a wave, and Lena laughed aloud as the boy eagerly asked, “What did you see?”

“Lots of things,” she said, looking deep within him as she spoke. “I know that you like to run fast,” she said, because the little green flame inside him curled up at the edges. “You’re uncomfortable in dark spaces,” and she felt his jolt of surprise at that – perhaps he’d never told anyone he was afraid of the dark. “And you’ve never had a pet.” That sort of thing left a permanent mark on someone’s soul, and the boy had none. “How am I doing so far?”

“You can really see all that?” He said, radiating awe.

“I can.” But there was also the matter of two streaks of sorrow, like long cracks in a glass windowpane. She paused long enough to eat a handful of the berries the cook had packed for them, then she said. “I can also see how much you miss your grandparents. Do you want to talk about them?”

The boy dropped the berry he’d just picked up and stared at where it landed in the sand. He shook his head. He did want to talk about them, she could tell, but apparently he couldn’t.

She looked away from him, gazing out to sea to give him space. Beside her, the boy was all confusion and regret. Perhaps he didn’t know how to start. To give him a potential opening, she said, “I was the same age as you when I lost my parents. A big wave washed half the village away. I know how it feels.”

She looked over at him. He was staring out at the water. He ate some of the berries, finished off his bread and cheese. He drew shapes in the sand. When he looked up again, found her watching him, he shrugged. “Pappy was a ship’s captain. He used to bring treasure from places you’ve never heard of.”

Lena nodded, smiling encouragingly.

He patted the orb on its chain around his neck and went on, “He found this on one of his trips. He never sold it off because he liked it so much. He said it was lucky. He said it made the winds blow fair.” His eyes filled with wonder. “Do you think he was right? Could this be the orb of the wind?”

“It’s possible,” Lena said. “I’ve often suspected my own was connected to water somehow.”

“Well, anyway, one day, he says to me, ‘Thad, I’ve got a bad feeling about those clouds up yonder. You keep my lucky charm here with your gram until I get back.’ But he never came back.”

Lena patted his arm sympathetically. “And you came to the city when your grandmother passed away?”

Thadius nodded. “I thought I could learn what happened to Pappy. I don’t expect to find him; he would have come back if he was alive. But I’d like to know what happened.”

“And did you ask at the docks? No one’s seen his ship?”

Thadius blushed furiously, dismay filling the air between them like a thick cloud. He looked toward Orin, who was still out of earshot, then said, “He… um… he wouldn’t have gone through the docks. He didn’t run that kind of ship.”

“Ah,” said Lena. A smuggler, perhaps? “I see.”

They ate in silence again. The boy’s embarrassment was so complete it chafed against the back of Lena’s neck. She reached across the sand between them and squeezed his hand, trying to get his mind off of it. “At home,” she said, “there's a shrine near the beach. Whenever something is lost at sea, people stand before the shrine and ask out loud about what they’ve lost. The villagers say the mermaids that live in the ocean are listening. If you throw them an offering and ask your question, sometimes, when you come back later, the mermaids will have left something for you, usually a shell or a bit of sea glass.”

That did the trick. The embarrassment faded, replaced by curiosity again. “Do they ever find the lost things?”

“Maybe. It depends on what you believe. Sea shells are open to interpretation.”

Thadius sighed, disappointed. “It’s too bad mermaids aren’t real.”

“Aren’t they? My whole village believes in mermaids. No one ever told me they weren’t real until I came to the city,” Lena said.

“Pappy used to talk about mermaids – there was even a picture of them in Gram’s storybook – but he talked about all sorts of things he said he saw on his journeys that couldn’t be real.”

“Like what?” Lena asked.

“Oh,” Thadius said, looking skyward as he thought. “Like sea serpents… and fish that could fly. Crazy things.”

“But there are fish like that!” Lena said quickly.

He laughed, sure she was joking. “No, there aren’t!”

“It’s true! You get them out in the deep water, far from shore. I saw them several times on my journey to Cornelia.”

“Really?”

“I’m a white mage! I can’t lie!” She called to Orin, who even then was walking back toward them. “Orin, when you journeyed here from the northern desert, did you see any of those flying fish?”

Orin nodded. “Very strange things in this world. It was a sight I’ll never forget.”

Thadius opened and closed his mouth, but all that came out was “Huh…”

 _Many strange things in this world_ , Lena thought. Little boys and white mages became Warriors of Light. There were flying fish. Perhaps there were mermaids. Perhaps everything the boy’s Pappy ever told him was true. And perhaps, given enough time, she would examine his soul again and find the cracks formed by grief were a little smaller than they had been before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _More about names: Thadius was probably the hardest character to name. Originally, I was going to call him Joshua (Josh for short), but I had already settled on Jack for my black mage at that point and by the time I was five chapters in*, I knew having two J names wasn’t going to work. So I needed something that started with a letter other than J, K, R, L, or O, something that didn’t have an N in it (look at all times I’ve already used that letter!), something only 4 letters long, but preferably something that was a nickname for a longer, formal name. It took days to find the right one. It. Was. Exhausting._   
>  _And can we talk about the city/kingdom/castle for a minute? I’ve been pronouncing it “Coneria” instead of “Cornelia” for a long time. Yes, I recognize that the “official” translation these days is “Cornelia,” and that’s what I’ve called it in my story, but in my head… The first time I played Final Fantasy 1 was when it came out, and at the time I was younger than Thad’s character is. The original bad translation of “Coneria” was seared into my brain during a formative age, and I can’t seem to drive it out._   
>  _*Yes, reader, I am writing these waaaaay ahead of when I’m posting them. Also, my first footnote! Pratchett would be proud._


	6. Long Way to Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Long Way to Go from Final Fantasy IV. Click[here](https://youtu.be/mRx9-98JRYg) to check out a lovely piano arrangement over on YouTube. _

Jack supposed he could have hidden in Lord Redden’s rooms all day – his presence made the servants nervous. Whenever he passed one in the hall, they avoided his gaze and kept as far from him as possible. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t experienced before. And Lord Redden had amassed himself quite a diverse library over the two decades he had lived in the castle: books of mythology, white mage philosophy, all of the standard texts on magical theory that Jack had studied during his own apprenticeship.

But one thing Lord Redden’s rooms lacked was a decent window. The book he had lent Jack the night before, a thick tome on the prophecy of the Warriors of Light was written in a small, delicate hand, as if the writer had needed to cram as much information as possible onto each page. Judging by the book’s thickness, it had been necessary. Jack had been at it all morning, his progress hampered by the complexity of the subject, but he was highly motivated.

No one had disturbed him, a fact which he credited to his excellent location: the window on the landing of the grand staircase that curled around the side of the castle’s ballroom. There wasn’t much traffic in the ballroom in the middle of the day, so it was quiet there. The window stretched from floor to ceiling, with long curtains hanging down either side, and looked out on a deserted courtyard. The floor wasn’t the most comfortable seat, and it lacked the dignity he felt a black mage should project to the world, but the curtains hid him almost completely if he leaned back against the window frame. Only his long legs betrayed him, stretched out at the moment, though he pulled his knees up whenever he heard someone walk by, the better to remain unseen.

He did so again now, at the sound of approaching voices. Someone was passing through the ballroom. Two someones, by the sound of it: a man and a woman. He ignored them, focusing on the book in front of him, but then he heard the man mention the Warriors of Light. It was Kane, he realized, though he didn’t recognize the woman’s voice.

“The council is being unreasonable,” she said. “They’ve been scrying through the night. Every sign they have tells them you have to leave on the next full moon, but they’ve done nothing about it!”

“Can you blame them? Where would we go? Sarah, we’re apprentices! What are we supposed to do about quakes and storms? What am I supposed to do?”

The princess, then. Jack knew from the hearing yesterday that Kane had grown up in the palace. Judging by his tone, they knew each other well.

“Whatever it is, you can’t do it here!”

The princess grew quiet after that last outburst. Jack had to listen carefully to pick up what she said next. “Where have you been, Kane? I haven’t seen you in a month. You said you’d visit.”

Kane sighed. “I tried. There just wasn’t time. You know how Garland feels about me. He’s kept me busy.”

“Garland.” The princess spat the name, her voice dripping scorn. "Garland was so angry that you four were declared Warriors of Light that he's left the castle. No one knows where he is. Father's furious. They were supposed to go hunting together, you know, before all of this happened."

“But what did your father say when you confronted him about imprisoning us here?” Kane’s voice faded as he finished the question. Jack twitched the curtain aside and saw the young guardsman disappearing down a hall with the princess on his arm.

He sat back against the window frame. Imprisoned? Now that was disturbing. He hadn’t tried to leave the palace, so he didn’t know if it was true. Would they stop him if he tried to walk out the front gate? He looked at the book again, read the same page over twice, then gave up. His focus was lost. Perhaps he would wander down to the gate and ask the guards posted there a few questions.

As he stood to go, he heard footsteps approaching the stairs and stilled himself behind the curtain. Whoever it was deserved a chance to pass without seeing him. But then there were more footsteps, larger ones, and the first person stopped.

A voice rang out, sharp and angry. “Where do you think you’re going?” That was Father Todd. Jack recognized the voice from the throne room yesterday, and from the hearings that followed.

A small, quiet voice answered him, so quiet that Jack strained to hear it. “I was returning to the princess’s rooms, Father.” That was Lena.

“And where exactly have you been?” Todd asked, louder this time.

“I went with Lord Orin to-”

Todd interrupted her, yelling now. “Were you not ordered to stay in the castle? Do you have any idea of the trouble you caused? How many guards have wasted the afternoon looking for you?”

Jack wouldn’t stand for it. The white mage had defended him against this man yesterday - he would do her the same courtesy. He stepped out from behind the curtain, straining to keep his voice controlled and level as he said, “That’s enough.”

At the base of the stairs, Todd jumped in surprise. Lena, on the bottom step with her back to him, didn’t even turn around. Perhaps she had sensed him on the landing – he had heard soul readers could do such things – or perhaps she was more afraid of the monster in front of her than the one that lurked behind. He was struck by how small she was: even with the step, she still only came up even with Todd’s nose. Jack came down the stairs, stopping at the step above Lena’s, towering over both her and the pompous high priest.

“This is none of your concern, mage,” Todd said, but already he had adopted a more moderate tone. He met Jack’s gaze and held it.

Jack smiled at the man’s boldness, but if there was one thing Jack prided himself on, it was his ability to stare down a bully. “You were yelling at a lady, sir,” he said, unblinking.

He was satisfied to see Todd break eye contact with him first. “She left the castle this morning, disobeying a direct order from the council.”

Jack arched an eyebrow at him. So it was true. “Are we your prisoners?” he asked, keeping his tone cold and emotionless.

“N-no,” Todd stuttered. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead. “The order is for your own protection!”

 _He’s afraid of me,_ Jack thought. _Time to press the advantage._ He opened himself to the aether, gathered power and held it, enough that the air crackled around him, enough that his eyes glowed. In fact, it was hardly any power at all, but to someone who wasn’t a black mage, it looked impressive. He looked at Todd with his glowing eyes and asked, “Do you think I can’t protect myself?”

Todd’s voice became shrill with fear. “Black magic is forbidden within the city!”

“I haven’t cast anything,” Jack said, stepping down beside Lena on the bottom step. “Yet.” He looked down at her – she didn’t even come up to his shoulders – but she barely turned her head to him, tilting only her eyes his way. _There is every possibility,_ he thought, _that I’ve terrified her too._ He remembered what he’d seen of Kane leading the princess down the hall and in a flash of inspiration, turned and offered Lena his arm. “Can I escort you to your room, my lady?”

Her eyes fell to the offered arm. Jack had just enough time to think how embarrassing it would be if she didn’t take it, but then she slipped her delicate hand into the crook of his elbow. He saw her throw one last defiant glance at Father Todd behind them as he led her away.

Before they’d reached the landing, Todd stomped loudly out of the ballroom. Lena let out a deep breath and said, “Thank you,” though her voice shook slightly.

 _Afraid of me?_ He chuckled. _Oh well. You can’t win them all._ “You’ll have to lead the way, my lady. I confess, I don’t actually know where your room is.”

She nodded, still seeming fearful, but she did not release his arm until they’d reached her door.

* * *

 “Scry all you like,” Lord Redden said, slamming his fist into the table top. “You’ve received the same result three times now. It isn’t going to change.”

“But we can’t send the orbs away!” said Lumen Cordat, one of the twelve members of the mage council. “They could be the key to ending the quakes.”

“The power to end the quakes is not with the orbs!” Redden repeated for the hundredth time. He’d read Lukhan’s prophecy of the Warriors of Light so often, he felt he could almost quote it. “It’s with the bearers!” Many in the room voiced agreement at this, but not all, not even half.

The mage council, the governing body of men and women that advised the king on matters of magic and prophecy, was divided. While many believed in letting the prophecy run its course, others, the vocal majority, believed they needed to control it. The prophesied Warriors of Light had turned out not to be experienced warriors after all, but inexperienced children. Surely, they required the guiding hand of the mage council to see their destinies fulfilled.

The “guiding hand” of the council couldn’t even keep up with one trembling white mage, who had somehow eluded their grasps this morning. The boy, Thadius, was also unaccounted for, but no one on the council seemed to care. Of course, Thadius wasn’t a soul reader. Redden suspected the council’s plan for the day had been to lock Lena in a room and have her read the souls of every suspected member of the Penumbra Brotherhood one by one.

When the princess had burst in demanding to know why the Warriors of Light were being detained in the castle like common criminals, and had let slip that the soul reader had, in fact, slipped past the guards on the princess’s direction, the council had been thrown into an uproar. The king had ordered them out of the council chamber so he could speak to his daughter privately, though everyone – possibly the whole kingdom – heard them shouting at each other through the closed chamber door. The girl and her father were both notoriously strong-headed. The princess’s smug expression when she left and the king’s dour mood since left no doubt in anyone’s mind who had won that argument. But while the king had reversed the order to keep the Warriors of Light safely within the castle, no progress had been made on the discussion of how they should proceed.

The problem, Redden considered – not for the first time – was that the Warriors of prophecy were not all like Kane. If the four of them had all been strapping young lads with swords on their backs, king and council would have sent them away with an honor guard and patiently waited for the quakes to stop. But a young boy with no family? A soul reader, too valuable to send away?

A black mage? Redden knew that as far as the council was concerned it didn’t matter that the soul reader had spoken for him. Attacks from the Brotherhood had grown more common in the past ten years. Every black mage, particularly those from outside the city, was a suspected spy for those vile insurgents.

The meeting had lost all pretense of order. Council members stood in twos and threes arguing with each other. Redden worked his way around the table to where King Cascius, his closest friend, sat in his ornate chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as though the light pained his eyes. He knelt beside his king and waited.

“I can’t let her go, Redden. You know that. I’ve been without a soul reader for too long. The Brotherhood’s reach would never have spread so far if I had had this girl ten years ago – gods! Even two years ago.”

“But the prophecy requires her to go, your majesty.”

Cascius sighed and looked about to say something, when the council chamber door slammed open, as it had when the princess had come in earlier, but this time it was Father Todd, the high priest, shaken and sweating.

“I’ve found her,” Todd said, throwing himself into an empty chair, breathing heavily. “She’s back in the castle.”

“Thank the gods for that! Lock her in, this time!” Lumen said, prompting murmurs of agreement.

Redden glared at the councilman. “Need I say again that she is a Warrior of Light, not an errant dog?”

Slouched in his chair, Father Todd sneered. “She was in the company of that black mage.”

“Who is also a Warrior of Light!” he snapped back, cutting off the next wave of murmurs before it could begin.

A figure came to the door that Father Todd had left open. Orin bowed in greeting, his wrinkled face split by a wide grin. “I beg your pardon, my king,” he said. “I had other matters to attend to this morning.”

“Where have you been, man? We’ve been at it since dawn!” said Cascius.

“My errand took me out into the city.” The monk found an empty chair on the edge of the room and sat gracefully, back straight, as if he himself was sitting on a throne, attended by the rapt mage council. “My king, I have good news. The spirits of the people are high. On every street, your subjects believe that the prophecy is coming true. They say the Warriors of Light will save them from the calamities. The common people have hope again.”

Silence gripped the council chamber. Not even a whisper disturbed it. Redden glanced about the room, but every eye was fixed upon the king. Redden looked to Cascius, who stared at the paper-strewn table in front of him. Finally, the king said, “They leave in two days.”

Father Todd protested, “But, your majesty, the soul reader!”

Cascius cut him off with a raised hand. “We’ve done without one until now. We’ll survive without one awhile longer.” The king pushed back from the table. Chairs scraped as the men and women of the council stood. Cascius nodded to Redden before addressing a clerk near the door. “See to the preparations.”

Redden watched the king, his friend, leave the room, shoulders slumped, head bowed, as though the crown were dragging him down.

* * *

Lord Redden’s armchair was perhaps the most comfortable Jack had ever experienced. It was evening now, and curled up in the chair near the cold hearth, he made do with a single lantern as he struggled through the tiny writing in that blasted book. Even his master’s handwriting was better than this! And for his troubles, he felt like he’d learned nothing. The book was full of unsubstantiated theories and speculations. He sighed over yet another poorly labeled diagram.

“Put it away, friend. Come and eat with me,” Kane said from the table, where a servant had lately deposited a tray. There was a pitcher of wine as well, and Jack was sorely tempted, but he was uncomfortable removing his scarf in the presence of others, which made eating or drinking difficult.

“No, thank you,” he said. “I grabbed something from the kitchens earlier.” That was technically true; no need to mention that “earlier” had been before first chime.

The guardsman shrugged, taking him at his word, and tucked in.

Jack sighed, hungry enough to be distracted by the food. It had been difficult to keep his mind on the book these past few hours. After the confrontation with Father Todd, Jack had escorted Lena to Princess Sarah’s own chambers, where the chamber maids naturally assumed he was the cause of her apparent distress and stood glaring at him in the hall until he’d vacated the wing.

He’d gone directly to one of the palace gates after that, where he’d terrified a green recruit of a guardsman with a number of uncomfortable questions as regarded what he, the guard, was willing to do, for example, to hold a black mage within the castle walls. From that little interview, he had learned that while the king had indeed ordered the guards to keep the Warriors of Light inside the castle, the order had later been rescinded. He was, in fact, free to come and go as he pleased.

From there, Jack had found his way to the empty courtyard he’d seen from the window in the ballroom staircase. He’d sat near the marble fountain in the courtyard’s center and made what little headway he could on that damnable book while the afternoon light held.

He had bumped into Kane as they both walked back to Redden’s rooms. The guardsman seemed to be in better spirits than he had the evening before – Jack assumed it was because the company had been better. He remembered the way Kane had looked walking down the hall with the princess on his arm, then remembered how small and warm Lena’s hand had been on his sleeve. He quickly forced the images away.

The effort to clear his mind brought him back to how hungry he was. Gods, but whatever Kane was eating over there smelled good, and he ate it with enthusiasm. He was reconsidering his stance on eating in front of the guardsman – after all, Kane had already seen his uncovered face. How bad could it be? – when there was a knock at the door.

Kane answered it, revealing a liveried servant with a large bundle, about the size of a pillow, and seemingly of similar weight. “I have a parcel here for master Jack,” the servant said.

Jack joined Kane in the doorway. “From whom?” he asked.

“From the princess, sir.” He handed Jack the package, bowed, and left.

Kane regarded Jack through narrowed eyes. “Why would the princess send something to you?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. We haven't even been introduced yet,” said Jack. He took the package inside, to the table, and found a letter tucked underneath.

In a spiky script, it read, “Lena tells me you came to her rescue against that tyrant Todd. Please accept this token of my gratitude.” It was unsigned.

“This surely isn’t the handwriting of a princess,” he said, passing the note to Kane.

“It is,” Kane said, reading it quickly. “First, you open the package, then you tell me what happened with Todd.”

“Fair enough,” Jack said.

He folded back the paper wrapping, revealing rich, black cloth. As he held it up, he realized what it was: a black mage’s robe, cut in the traditional style, but finer than anything he’d ever seen. Collar, hems, and sleeves were resplendent with embroidery, a pattern of birds in a deep blue that blended into the black backdrop with a shimmer. When he shook out the robe, a bit of cloth of the same blue as the embroidery fluttered to the floor.

Kane picked it up. “She's included a matching scarf,” he said, examining it.

Jack looked from the pristine robe to his own travel-worn leather coat. The coat was serviceable for a man who lived his life on the road. The other was decidedly not. “What will I ever do with this?” he asked.

Kane winced. “Did no one tell you?”

“You’re the only one in this castle who speaks to me,” Jack pointed out.

“Ah, yes,” Kane said. “Well, it seems the king has announced there’s to be a ball tomorrow in honor of the Warriors of Light.”

Jack blinked in surprise. “And I'm expected to attend this ball?”

“Most definitely,” said Kane.

“I’m going to need some of that wine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Jack was the easiest character to name. You have stories like “Jack and the beanstalk” and “Jack the Giant Killer” and all the “Jack Tales” in American folklore, always about a young man who wins the day by being cleverer than other people. It's the perfect name for a bookish mage who spends most of his time thinking._   
>  _Of course, in the game, he's an adorable squatty thing with a silly hat, a long robe, and sleeves for days. All you can see of him are his glowy little eyes. He was the cutest character ever (until Square invented moogles) and as a kid playing FF1 for the first time, I fell in love with him instantly. Translating the lovable character sprite into a real person took some compromise. I kept the hat, the covered face, and the glowing eyes, but, by God, the robe had to go. They tell you to write what you want to read, and I'd rather read about mister tall, dark, and mysterious in his long leather coat over here._


	7. Burden of Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Burden of Truth from Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core. Click[here](https://youtu.be/r1QfdrbTiX8) for the OST version over on YouTube. _

Lena had been back in Sarah's room less than an hour when the king’s messenger arrived, informing her that she and the other Warriors of Light were being sent away. Sarah had told her this would happen; what neither of them anticipated, though, was the timing.

The mage councils' scrying had been conclusive: the Warriors needed to leave on the first day of the full moon. That gave her one day. Only one day to prepare, one day to say goodbye. Less than that, as that same messenger had also informed her that her attendance was required at a ball the next evening.

She'd hardly slept, her mind tumbling through everything she might need - an uncertainty, since no one had yet decided where they were going - and she'd leapt out of bed as soon as the first rays of morning light had come through the window. The princess had protested sleepily, but had accepted Lena's explanation, suggesting she stop by the kitchens for breakfast before she set out.  

She did so now. The cook, Dole, had been up for hours already, and the kitchen was warm and bright. It smelled strongly of bread. Dole was busy directing one of his apprentices in the preparation of some sort of meat. She found a spot out of the way and waited until he finished before speaking to him.

"Master Dole," she began, but the boisterous man plowed right over what she'd been about to say.

"Ah, my lady soul reader! How was your picnic yesterday? Did you try the cheese?"

"Um, yes, it was lovely."

"My wife's nephew makes that cheese! Little farm east of the city. Very proud of that boy, we are!" He was, indeed; she could feel it. He was proud of the kitchen, proud of his workers, proud of the porridge... Pride was the predominant emotion in this room.

"Oh," she said. "That's..." She groped for a word, but came up empty. "Also lovely," she finished lamely. "I was actually hoping you could give me something for breakfast?"

"Aye, you're in luck. The buns are just out of the oven. I had to send the other fellow away empty-handed - he came too early."

"Other fellow?" she asked.

"Tall chap with a mask on."

"Oh." She sensed nothing else from the cook, neither fear nor curiosity at the masked stranger. As far as Dole was concerned, Jack was simply another belly to fill. She decided she liked him better for it. "Could I have two, please?"

* * *

She found the mage quicker than she could have hoped. Her first impulse had been to go to Lord Redden's rooms, as the princess had told her the night before that Jack was staying there. A servant told her how to find them, directing her to cut across the ballroom and take the grand staircase. She stopped to look at the window where Jack had been hiding the day before, wondering for the first time why he would have been doing such a thing, and that was when she saw him, not behind the curtains again, but in the courtyard below, so she made her way to it.

He sat on the edge of a fountain in the courtyard's center, reading a fat book as the water splashed behind him. He still wore the long, black leather coat, but the scarf that covered his features today was a soft shade of yellow. The broad hat was missing, and his dark hair stood up in crooked spikes, as though he'd done nothing to fix how he'd slept on it. He started slightly when he noticed her - he must not have heard her coming over the sound of the water - and stood. "My lady," he said, bowing.

People didn’t normally bow and address her so formally. _This is the black mage that has the council quivering in their boots,_ she thought. The absurdity of It made her smile. "I've brought you this," she said, holding out the napkin-wrapped, still warm bun.

He took the offering with a confused crease between his eyebrows, but his eyes brightened as he comprehended what it was.

"May I sit with you?" she asked.

"Please," he said, gesturing toward the fountain.

The water was clear, and looked pleasant, so she slipped off her sandals and swung her legs over, pulling the hem of her white robe up to keep it dry. The mage regarded her curiously, but said nothing.  

"I like water," she said by way of explanation.

He merely nodded. His eyes were blue, the same blue as the little flame he carried within. She hadn’t noticed it before.

It occurred to her then that she couldn't sense anything from him, no emotions, no thoughts, which was odd because he did have very expressive eyes. For instance, just now he seemed curious about her presence. Curious and confused. That was fine: her aunt Clara always said it was best to keep them guessing. But this was the first time in a long while anyone had done the same for her.

She tried to think if she'd felt anything from him on the stairwell the day before, but could only recall her own fear of Father Todd, and Todd's fear of Jack. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't sensed anything from him since their first encounter in the harbor square.

She focused her will on him - not a soul reading, just her full attention - and with effort she was able to pick out what he was feeling: confusion and curiosity, yes, but also shame and embarrassment. She couldn't see the cause for those. She felt his hunger, heavy, as if he’d skipped a meal, so why wasn't he eating now?

The mask! He was too shy to remove it in front of her! She blushed furiously, looking at her feet in the water. "I won't look," she said.

That had been too blunt. She felt a little stab of pain from him and pulled her focus away. It was one thing to feel the emotions of random people on the street, but to reach for them intentionally like this seemed far too personal, particularly when the primary emotion was humiliation.

He seemed frozen to the spot, but she kept her head down. Eventually she felt him shift beside her, heard him eating. She stared intently at her feet, squeezing her eyes shut when the temptation to turn and look became almost too great to bear.

She didn't open her eyes until he tapped her shoulder. He was covered again, looking steadily at her, and she noticed now where a thin edge of his scars showed above the scarf on the left, the more damaged side. When her eyes met his, he said only, "Thank you, my lady."

She blushed again and looked away. "It's just Lena." She tried to look at him again, but he was still staring intently at her. She gave up and looked at the water instead. Water was always nice. "I'm sure they've told you... About how we have to leave tomorrow."

"Yes, my lady."

She let it pass this time. It was customary in many parts of the world to address white mages so; perhaps he was from one of those. She said quickly, "But I need to return to White Hall - there are things there I need, spellbooks and such. Only after what happened yesterday..."

"You're afraid to go alone," he finished for her.

"I can make it worth your time, of course. Black Hall is nearby, and I can introduce you there. Surely they'll be eager to help you prepare for our journey."

"It would be an honor to accompany you," he said. "And I thank you for inviting me."

He meant it. She felt his gratitude without trying, but lost the sensation as soon as it had begun. _He's doing that,_ she realized. _He's reining his feelings in himself._ She looked toward him again at last, but his covered face gave nothing away.

When she swung her legs out of the fountain and slipped back into her shoes, he stood, held out a hand to help her up, then tucked her arm into his as he had the day before.

He sighed. "You'll have to lead the way again."

She couldn't help it - she laughed out loud.

* * *

He didn't know what had changed, but she no longer seemed afraid of him. As she led him through the nearly empty city streets, she told him about the oldest buildings, pointed out those that had been damaged in the recent quakes. He'd been surprised at the extent of the damage - the quakes at Crescent Lake were neither as frequent nor as severe as Cornelia's must be.

She had offered to go with him to Black Hall, but he had turned her down, not wanting to distract her from her own preparations. After agreeing to meet there at first chime, he’d walked her to the door of White Hall and watched as she went inside, before turning to his own task.

Black Hall was not actually black. It was built of the same stone as White Hall, the same as the castle, a blue-grey limestone that seemed to be everywhere in the city, though each building was uniquely designed. While White Hall tended toward curved walls and high windows, Black Hall was all sharp corners, but with one wide, round window of colored glass above the double-doored entrance. He stopped in the street to admire the window's design, a pleasing mix of colors and shapes that radiated out from the center but followed no pattern. As he looked, one of the doors opened. An old man leaned against it, his long beard white against black robes, beckoning to someone in the street.

Jack looked about, but he was the only one there at this time of day. He stepped toward the Hall. The old man smiled in greeting.

"You were expecting me?" Jack asked.

"I hoped you'd come," the old man said. "The others didn't think you would, but when I heard one of the Warriors of Light was a black mage, I hoped."

The two of them stepped inside, but the foyer was empty. There were no other people, no furnishings, only a patina of dust, patterned by the colorful window. The elder mage, who introduced himself as Morgan, shuffled slowly; he didn't require a walking stick, and his back was still proud and straight, but he was obviously very old. Jack followed him patiently.

They came to a library, a large room at the back of the building with more colored glass windows. The windows didn't let in much light - they looked out on a small, walled garden, abundantly overgrown. Throughout the room, books and papers covered every table and many of the chairs, some of the piles spilling over into the floor. A fire burned in a large hearth in the far wall, flanked by armchairs, one of which contained an old woman, asleep with a book on her chest and a cat in her lap. The cat blinked once at them, stretched, and sauntered away. The woman did not stir.

“I took the liberty of looking up a few spells for you,” Morgan said, shuffling toward a table near the fireplace. “I didn’t know if you had taken the Oath yet, so I apologize if any of them are below your skill. I meant no insult.”

Jack nodded. Black mages traditionally took an oath when they had completed their training. He had taken his own shortly before he’d left for Cornelia. He picked up a stack of papers from the table, skimming through them. A few he didn’t need - fire and lightning came easily to him - but here was a spell that could put an enemy to sleep, and another to stop an attacker in his tracks. “Does this one work as well as it says?” he asked.

“I’m afraid I’ve never tried it,” the old man said.

The two of them spent the next few hours flipping through whatever spell books Morgan thought would be useful. Occasionally, Jack copied a spell or a theory onto a scrap of paper. When the light in the window told him it was midday, he rolled the spells and notes together and placed them in an inner coat pocket. “Thank you,” he said, standing to go. It wasn’t much, but it was more than he’d had that morning. He surveyed the room, the crowded shelves, the books piled on tables. It would take him years to merely skim through them all. “I thought I’d have more time,” he said.

“I wish there was more I could do,” Morgan said.

Suddenly, Jack was struck by the emptiness of the room, the number of tables and chairs and books and only two black mages to make use of them all - three if he counted the woman sleeping in the armchair. “What happened here?” he asked, finally speaking aloud the questions that had plagued him all morning. “Why has black magic been outlawed? And why didn’t I know about it? My friend in the castle tells me the ban has been in effect for nearly twenty years, yet none of my instructors saw fit to mention it.”

Morgan nodded slowly, as if he’d been waiting for this. He gestured for Jack to retake his seat. When he did, the old man said, “The rumors say you came from Crescent Lake?”

Jack nodded.

“Your instructors were probably ashamed. I imagine at least a few of them are those who fled from Cornelia when the trouble started, rather than stand and fight.”

“Trouble?” Jack asked.

“It’s a long story. To start with, what do you know of dark magic?”

“Little,” said Jack, which was true enough. While white magic originated from the soul of a white mage and was channeled outward, black mages drew power from the aether, the source of all life, and redirected it through their souls. A very few black mages, however, could draw their power not only from the aether but from other living souls: Dark mages. “I’ve heard the stories. That they kill children, can wipe out whole villages with a thought. But those are just stories. Dark mages can’t draw power from someone to the point of death.”

“Do you know why that is?”

“No.” It was exactly the sort of thing his instructors wouldn’t speak of, one of the many reasons he’d left the Lake.  

Morgan sat back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of him. “The soul is a resilient little beast. It clings to that last bit of power. But that last bit’s the most important. It’s the seed from which all power grows. If a dark mage came in here and drew off of you, you’d be good as new within a day or so. The seed grows back. But can you imagine what it would do to that same dark mage’s power if he was able to rip the seed out as well? To add it to his own power?”

He shook his head. “That’s not possible.”

“Not without killing, no.” The old man hesitated, shifting uncomfortably.

Jack sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Tell me,” he said.

“They called themselves the Penumbra Brotherhood. There was a group of them, here in the city, only a few at first, but as their power increased, their numbers grew.” Morgan turned in his chair so that he was staring at the fire instead of at Jack. “At first, we were pleased with their results, before we knew exactly how they were achieving them. They could do amazing things. I won’t describe for you the kind of power they had.”

Jack couldn't imagine it. The only limit to a mage's power was the size of his own soul's aether reserves. But if the only way to increase those reserves was through unethical means, what kind of mage would do such a thing?

The cat wandered back in and Morgan bent down, waggling his fingers at it, until it came over and let him pick it up. “We tried to put a stop to it, but it was too late. By the time we learned what they were doing, there were too many of them, too drunk with power. They didn’t just turn on us, but the whole city. The fires burned for days. When it was over, we’d driven out the Brotherhood, but they’d defeated us as well: they were only scattered, not destroyed. They’re still out there, to this day. Our best mages were dead; the people were afraid of us. When the late king proposed the ban, the mage council agreed to it. Half the councilors were black mages back then, and still they agreed to it.”

There was no sound but the crackling fire, the purring cat, and the bell tower outside tolling first chime. Lena would be waiting. “I have to go,” Jack said, making no move to arise.

“Why come all this way, if you don’t mind my asking?” said Morgan. “The Crescent Sages are renowned the world over. Surely, we’ve nothing to offer here compared to what they have.”

“I had questions my teachers couldn’t answer.” _Wouldn’t answer_ , he thought. “They told me Black Hall had the largest collection of magical tomes in the world. I left as soon as I’d taken the Oath.”

“Perhaps when this Warrior of Light business is finished, you’ll have more time to look for answers.” Morgan stood, pushing the cat to the floor. It meowed indignantly and returned to the lap of the still-sleeping woman, who petted it drowsily but did not waken.

Jack stood again. “Perhaps,” he said, but it was beginning to occur to him that he might not like the answers if he found them.

He turned at the sound of footsteps and saw Lena rushing into the library, her arms loaded with books and a cloth-wrapped bundle. Her hood was down, and her hair was wet. She was out of breath as well, as though she’d run a long way, farther than the distance between here and White Hall at least. She smiled when she saw him. “Oh, good. When I didn’t see you outside, I thought you might have left without me. I’m sorry I kept you.” She turned to the elder mage and said, “Hello, Father Morgan.”

“Hello, Lena,” said Morgan. “Just come from the cove?”

Lena answered him, but Jack wasn’t listening. He was thinking of the Brotherhood: only scattered, not destroyed, a fraternity of dark mages somewhere in hiding, and a whole city afraid of him because of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I've always been partial to caster characters in fantasy fiction. The big strong man with a sword tends to get all the credit (you'll notice we call them "Arthurian Legends" rather than "Merlinian Legends"), but if I wanted strong men with swords, I'd read history. Possibly the reason characters like Merlin get glossed over is because nobody wants to explain how the magic works._   
>  _So here’s my Final Fantasy story, in which a couple of the main characters are mages. In FF6, the power comes from magical creatures called Espers. In FF7, it’s from materia. In FF1? It just is. How does it work? Why is black magic different from white magic? I didn’t want to fall back on the trope of “White = Good! Black = Bad!” so in the end, I boiled it all down to one question: Where does it come from?_   
>  _In this chapter, I have my first super simple explanation of (my interpretation of) the magic you see in the video game. More (less simple) explanations to come in future chapters._   
>  _Also, shout out to the spell "LOCK", which in the original FF1 was bugged and never worked. Did you catch the reference?_


	8. Waltz for the Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Waltz for the Moon from Final Fantasy VIII. Click[here](https://youtu.be/0IjDGts8Ha8) for the song along with the original cut scene from the game over on YouTube._

"Just wear the hat," Kane said. "It's traditional, isn't it? These people expect a black mage - give them a black mage." He stood in front of the mirror in his father's suite, adjusting the fit of his dress uniform, impractically white with red and gold trim and complete with equally impractical white gloves. It was sunset, and the ball had already started, but he and Shipman had been filthy when they left the training yard. It had taken longer than he’d planned to make himself presentable.

Jack appeared in the mirror behind him, wearing the robes he'd received from the princess, face obscured by the blue scarf, but voice frantic. "Are you kidding? I can't wear that hat with these robes! Have you seen these robes?"

Kane paused long enough to look at the black mage's hat on the bed behind him. It was definitely shabby by comparison. "So don't wear the hat." He ran a comb through his hair and glanced over his reflection one last time. Though not usually part of the dress uniform, his sword hung from his belt. The four Warriors of Light were making their debut at court: each of them was meant to wear the orb they possessed for all to see.

Jack's orb, freed from its usual pouch in the mage's pocket, had been set in a long chain that hung in front of his new robes, the orb's red surface glimmering richly against the black. The mage paced a nervous circle in the floor. "But I like the hat!"

"Catch," Kane said. He threw the comb, which Jack caught inelegantly. "Just do something with your hair. Forget the hat."

"How are you so calm about this?"

"It's only a ball," Kane said. "You forget: I've done this sort of thing all my life." He did not mention that he was nervous himself. It had been more than three years since the last ball in Cornelia, and he had been nobody then. He wasn't sure he could remember a single one of the dances his father had drilled into him during his childhood. But Kane refused to give in to his nerves. This was happening, and there was nothing he could do to change it, so he was going to go out there and face it down.

Jack replaced him in front of the mirror, combing his hair awkwardly, as if he didn't often bother. Given the state of the hat, Kane thought, he probably didn't. "They'll all be looking at us," Jack said. "I generally try to avoid being looked at."

Kane had nothing to say to that. He knew he was handsome. He had often enjoyed the attention it brought him. He couldn't imagine what Jack's life had been, how many people he must have frightened with his scarred appearance before he decided it was easier to live his life behind a mask.

He stepped up beside the mage, surveying the two of them in the mirror. If Kane hadn't known what was under the scarf, he would have taken Jack to be just another black mage in formal clothes. It made no difference, of course. Not everyone in Cornelia was as open minded about black mages as Kane tried to be. "They'll be looking at us, yes," he said. "But they're not going to see you and me. They're going to see the Warriors of Light. It's not the same."

Jack stared at his own reflection - Kane wondered if Sarah had known when she picked it out that the scarf matched his eyes - then he nodded, tossing the comb into the tray on the side table. "Let's get this over with," he said.

"That's the spirit," said Kane.

In the sitting room, Shipman sat stiffly in Lord Redden's comfortable armchair, back ramrod straight as though he were afraid of mussing the green velvet tunic he wore, a darker green than the orb that hung from his neck on its silver chain. The boy scowled, still angry about the day's training session: Kane had made up for their shortened session yesterday by keeping Shipman in the yard until he'd been satisfied that the sword drills were beginning to sink in. The boy still had a long way to go; Kane wondered how well he'd be able to keep training him on the road.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"I've _been_ ready!" Shipman said.

"Then let's go."

They heard the music before they reached the end of the corridor. When they stepped out onto the balcony that ringed the ballroom, all was color and light. Huge vases of flowers filled every corner and flanked every doorway. Strips of colored cloth draped the bannisters, blue and red and yellow. Banners hung on every wall displaying the blue and gold crest of House Plein, the royal family. His companions stopped to stare in awe, but Kane walked on - he'd seen it all before.

He tried to appear confident as he approached the man waiting at the top of the grand staircase to announce them as they entered, hoped his voice didn't shake as he gave the man his name, but then he was walking down those same steps he had taken hundreds of times before. Every eye in the room turned to him as his name was announced: "Guardsman Kane Carmine, Warrior of Light!"

He had been younger the last time he'd done this. Three years wasn't so long, but it seemed a lifetime ago. He'd stood off to the side, the son of the court bard, with no title or name for himself. He hadn't needed to be announced, then. But now he was here, wearing the soldier's uniform he himself had earned - and a title he hadn't - and all his nervousness vanished like a puff of smoke.

"Thadius Shipman, Warrior of Light!" the man announced, but Kane didn't look back. He was already at the bottom of the stairs, and he'd spied the princess on the royal dais. She was dressed in white trimmed with gold, her blond hair pinned up beneath a crown of yellow roses, and she beamed at him.

He didn't hear Jack being announced on the stairs. He didn't hear the music anymore. He didn't hear the people who tried to engage the Warrior of Light in conversation. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, but his feet carried him steadily toward her. As he bowed before Sarah's throne, he was vaguely aware that he had altogether ignored her mother, the queen, beside her, but he didn't care. "Princess," he said. He was smirking. He knew he was smirking.

She laughed aloud. "Guardsman," she said.

"I wonder if I could have the honor of this dance," he said.

Someone giggled, and he noticed Lena, sitting on the queen's other side. She blushed and looked away, so that her white hood hid her face, but then Sarah was beside him, taking his offered hand, and the two of them were heading to the dance floor.

He only smiled wider when he realized he remembered this dance and wouldn't make an utter fool of himself. His face hurt from smiling. Sarah leaned in and whispered, "I've missed you."

"You've seen me every day this week," he pointed out.

"Not like this," she said.

* * *

Leaning against the balcony railing, Redden watched his son. He was satisfied to see that Kane remembered the dances he'd been taught as a child. The boy had initially scoffed at the lessons, but the princess had liked to dance, and even then Kane would have followed Sarah to the ends of the earth. Besides, Kane had taken to dancing as well as he'd taken to the sword. He had a grace that Redden himself had always lacked.

That was the reason he had given Kane the sword, after all.

He looked over at a movement beside him. The king joined him at the balcony railing, looking down at the dancers. "They really do look well together," Cascius said.

Redden nodded, but didn't reply. He suspected Sarah had planned her outfit specifically to match Kane's uniform, but he would never say as much. He had known for years that the match could never be. He knew Kane knew it too - that had been an uncomfortable conversation. He wondered if Cascius, or perhaps Jayne, had had a similar conversation with their daughter.

They stood in silence for a long time, not the king and his subject but two friends, watching their children together. After a time, Cascius patted his shoulder. "What's on your mind, old friend?"

“I’m going with him, Cascius.” He'd started thinking it yesterday, had even accounted for it while making his son's preparations, but he had not yet said it out loud.

His friend stood up straighter, resting his hands lightly on the railing. "Kane is a fine young man; he’s old enough to take care of himself.”

“It’s not that,” Redden said. He gripped the railing tightly, still watching his son. Kane and the princess were on their third dance in a row. “That sword… you know it was Cid’s before he died. You know where it came from.”

Cascius nodded. They didn't often talk of Redden's brother, the one who had been betrothed to Jayne before she became queen, the one whose sword Kane now carried. “You think somehow the earth cave is tied up in all of this? The prophecy?”

Redden closed his eyes, trying to put the images out of his mind. He couldn't. He never would. “The captain of the last ship to come through, before the quakes closed the pass, told me a curious thing. He told me the fields around Melmond were starting to go barren.”

"Jayne..."

"I didn't tell her." The queen's late father had been lord of Melmond, the first city beyond the Aldean bay. A cousin of hers held it now. Redden had grown up there.

Cascius let out a breath in relief. “Redden… The thing that killed your brother, it was destroyed. We destroyed it, you and I together. It has to be coincidence.”

Redden wanted his friend to be right, wanted it more than anything, but a heavy, cold weight settled in his chest when he thought about it. He pushed his long white hair out of his face as he shook his head. “But it might not be. Kane and the others, they have no idea what they’re doing. If their journey takes them to that cave... That’s why I have to go.”

“I wasn’t going to stop you," the king said. "You know I’d do the same if it were my own child. But I will miss you.” He looked down at the dancers once more, then turned and walked away, leaving Redden alone with his memories.

* * *

Lena watched from her seat beside the queen. There were so many people. The mood was happy, and that helped, but in a crowd this size it was still overwhelming, like eating too many sweets. She was glad she'd gone back to the cove that morning to clear her head, even if the princess had despaired at the state of her hair on her return. The way things were going, she hoped she'd have time to go back before they left on their journey tomorrow.

In the center of the twirling throng of dancers, the princess laughed at something Kane had said. Lena could have watched them all night. They were just so... so amused with each other, so happy to see one another. It wasn’t love, not really, not the deep and abiding sort of passion that the bards wrote songs about, but if this wasn't how it started, she'd eat her hood. A lovely hood it was, too: a gift from the princess. The hems were heavily embroidered with large red roses and delicate green leaves. Every so often, a tiny crystal bead, like a drop of dew, graced a stray leaf. Sarah told her it had belonged to Lady Aliana, the king's former soul reader, and that there was a trunk in an attic somewhere with many others, equally fine.

As she watched the dance, a discordant feeling wafted over her, out of place amidst the happiness of the ballroom, like the smell of smoke in a bustling kitchen. She looked toward its source. On her throne, the queen, too, watched her daughter, but her pride and affection were eaten through with regret. Lena didn't delve into it, but knew that somehow Kane was the cause - Kane, and some other loss, deeply buried. Did Kane remind her of this lost loved one? Or was the queen disappointed in something Kane had done? Lena didn't feel it was her place to ask.

As if she'd sensed Lena watching her, the queen glanced over, but quickly turned her attention back to Kane and the princess. "What do you see when you look at him?" she asked.

"He's certainly handsome," Lena said.

She had said it in jest, in hopes of lightening the queen's mood, but the queen was not amused. "You know what I mean, soul reader."

Lena sighed. She could read people's moods, yes, but she still couldn't predict them. "A moment, then." She looked back at the dancers. She hadn't done a reading on Kane - she hadn't felt the need - but she looked at him and let her eyes relax. It was like focusing on something far away, letting everything else fade and blur into the background, but the thing she was focusing on was not visible to everyone else.

The white mages called it soul sight, the ability to see the aether within a person. Any white mage with the skill could use it to see at a glance if someone was well, the better to heal them if they were not, but for a soul reader, it revealed more. It wasn't a full reading - it showed her only the plainest sort of features that she was sure anyone could pick up after five minute's conversation with the intended target - but as she needed to be closer for a full reading, she hoped it would satisfy the queen for now.

"He's brave," she said. "Loyal. A good friend." She watched as the souls - those two points of light that were Kane and Sarah - began yet another dance together. The lights were both the same soft shade of pale yellow; it was no wonder they were friends, with such similar auras. The yellow dipped and spun between the colors from the other dancers, a beautiful though random pattern, like the window above the door of Black Hall. She was caught up in admiring it for a moment but shook it off. "A good man," she concluded for the queen.

There was no response. Looking at the queen through her soul sight confirmed her earlier assessment: regret. The queen loved her family, loved her kingdom, but she was haunted nonetheless by the love she had lost. Beyond the queen, Lena saw the king coming down the stairs, his soul a fierce green flame that possessed many of the same qualities she'd named in Kane: bravery, loyalty, but predominantly strength. Not only a good man but a good king. Still, he was a king who needed a soul reader, and she didn't wish to speak to him. "Excuse me, your majesty," she said, stepping from the dais before the queen could object.

She rushed along the edge of the room, where there were fewer people, and waited for her soul sight to fade on its own, as it took more effort to force it down. Away from the dais, the press of emotions was stronger, closer around her. A few people tried to converse with her, but she quickly excused herself and moved away. She saw Thadius near the food tables, surrounded by adoring courtiers - the boy really was a charmer - and he waved at her, his soul the pale green of spring grass, but he was preoccupied with his audience. That was fine by her, as she needed to get away from all of these people.

She soon realized that in her search for an exit, she'd managed to back herself into a corner and would have to traverse the crowd again to get out of it. She would have given anything to be back at the cove right now. But then, the crowd around her began to thin out, people moving away in a ripple of fear and suspicion, until only one soul stood before her, bright and blue. Jack.

Her soul sight had nearly dissipated but she forced it down the rest of the way, not wanting to pry into his emotions as she had before, and her vision returned to normal as he bowed before her. "My lady," he said. She thought he was smiling under the blue scarf he wore. Yet again, she was struck by how she felt nothing from him, by how tightly he held his feelings in check. "May I have this dance?"

"I can't," she said, swiftly. She couldn't! If she walked onto that crowded dance floor, she was sure her head would burst open from the pressure. She needed to get out.

She almost missed the flurry of disappointment from him, he squashed it down so quickly. He bowed again, and had begun to walk away before she could call out, "Wait!"

He stopped, gazing back at her, the crowd giving him a wide berth.

It was selfish of her, but that berth was exactly what she needed. "Would you stand with me a while?"

He hesitated, but then nodded and came to her side.

With the crowd avoiding him, and by extension her, she found it easier to calm her frantic mind. She closed her eyes, took several deep breaths.

She felt his concern a heartbeat before she heard his voice. "Are you alright, my lady?"

Her eyes shot open. He was staring at her again.

"Yes, I'm..." She groped for an acceptable word that wasn't a lie: she was not "fine". Finally, she said, "I need to get out of this room."

He said nothing, only tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as he'd done that morning and led her swiftly through the crowd, which parted around him like a school of frightened fish. He found the hallway that led to the outer courtyard much quicker than she could have done on her own, distressed as she was. The lone guard on the outer door looked curiously at them but let them pass without a word.

It was darker outside, but not overly so, with the full moon above them and the lights streaming out of the castle windows. Jack led her to the fountain. The music from the ball carried this far, but only as a muffled hum, and the sound of the water all but eclipsed it. She sat on the fountain's edge and reached toward her feet, unfastening the complicated buckles on the dancing shoes the princess had found for her - they were absurd, really. She didn't know why she couldn't have worn her sandals. The embroidered robe was longer than the ones she normally wore by several inches. No one would ever see her feet.

When she swung her feet around into the water, the long robe trailed after, getting soaked before she could catch it up. She growled a little in frustration, readjusting its folds. She sensed Jack's befuddlement as he took a seat beside her. Either he was making no effort to conceal it, or she was being so ridiculous that even he was ruffled. She concentrated on calming herself, the sound and feel of the water, the pleasant night air. She could still feel a faint wisp of happiness from inside the castle, but she tried to let it wash over and through her without pulling her under.

It was several minutes before she felt calm enough to speak, to answer his unasked question. "I feel what other people are feeling. It's part of being a soul reader."

The befuddlement transitioned into surprise, and then it was gone, locked down. Mentioning feelings must have made him more aware of his own.

She focused on the water and went on. "Normally, I can block them out, but not when there are so many. It will be a relief to leave the city tomorrow."

"Yes," was his only reply.

"The water helps. It's the only thing that helps." She kicked her feet, splashing lightly.

He moved beside her, and she turned to see that he was pulling off his boots.

"What are you doing?" she said.

"Trying it for myself." He pulled his robes back, rolled up the hem of the pants he wore underneath, and flipped around so that he, too, was facing the fountain's center. He hissed through his teeth as his feet hit the water. "Cold!" he said.

"It was colder this morning," she said.

She felt a crackling in the air, saw his eyes glow briefly, and suddenly the water in the fountain was steaming. She gasped, "You can't do that here!"

He winced at her tone. "Sorry," he said. "It's so easy to forget. We use magic for everything in Crescent Lake. Forgive me, my lady. It won't happen again."

"Please call me Lena." His voice did seem contrite, but she still couldn't sense anything. The warm water _was_ nicer though, nice enough that she might not need to visit the cove again after all. She grasped for something else to say. "Did you enjoy your visit to Black Hall?" she asked. They had returned to the castle in silence that afternoon; she had been so focused on avoiding the people who crowded the streets, trying to keep her head clear, that she hadn't thought to ask him then.

He rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head. "In truth, no." He paused, as though trying to decide how much to say. "My instructors back home told me that the rest of the world feared black magic, so I expected at least some of it. I'm even accustomed to a certain level of revulsion, given my appearance. I thought I had faced the worst of it on my journey here, but that was nothing compared to what I’ve encountered these past few days.”

She wouldn’t go so far as to suggest he stop dressing as a black mage to fit in more easily - he _was_ a black mage; it wasn’t something he could just take off, anymore than she would cast off her white robe. Instead, she said, “Cornelia has more reason than most to fear black magic.”   

“The Brotherhood?” he asked.

 _Such a tall man,_ she thought, _so imposing in those black robes, yet such a quiet voice._

She nodded. “They do such terrible things. Whole families go missing. Homes and shops destroyed overnight. We find their messages scrawled on walls. As far as the council can tell, there are only a few dark mages among them, less than a dozen, but they’re no less devastating for it. They still have followers, some of them black mages themselves.” All at once, the implications of being the king’s soul reader caught up with her, as if her instructors at White Hall had given her a huge assignment months ago and she had forgotten it until now. “Everyone is going to expect me to find them.” She covered her face with her hands to shut out the thought, but it was already burrowing into her brain.

He tugged her sleeve, gently but firmly pulling her hands away. When she looked at him at last, he said, “I don’t expect that of you.”

He seemed sincere, but she sensed nothing from him and she couldn’t stand it. She focused on him, searching him for the truth of his words, and she found it: he expected _nothing_ of her. The black mage simply accepted her just as she was, and craved the same acceptance in return.

She started to say something, but a noise near the castle drew her attention. Another guard had joined the one near the door. The two of them talked, but then the first one pointed in her direction.

“You should go,” Jack told her. “There’s a door to the servant’s quarters behind those rose bushes. I found it yesterday. Surely you can find the royal suites from there.”

It seemed he knew she had no intention of returning to that blasted ball, even if she was summoned by the king himself.

She swung her legs out of the fountain with a splash and leaped to her feet. Then, on an impulse, she took the black mage’s covered face in her hands and kissed his forehead. “Thank you,” she said, and because it seemed important to tell him so, she added, “my friend.”

The approaching guard protested as she ran for the rose bushes, leaving wet footprints and those absurd dancing shoes behind her.

* * *

By the time the ball wound down, Jack was still on the edge of the fountain. He lay on his back now, listening to the water. He’d replaced his boots. She hadn’t come back for her shoes - he hadn’t expected her to - but he had remained outside anyway. The party had lost its appeal.

Morgan hadn’t told him the attacks from the Brotherhood were ongoing. No wonder Cornelia’s citizens were so fearful. He knew now that he would never have been able to stay here, unable to practice the magic that was so much a part of him. Lucky for him, he had no choice but to leave, and leave tomorrow.

He looked up at the night sky, where the light of the full moon hid most of the smaller stars, but there was one, large and twinkling, that drew his attention. “I don’t know what I expected to find when I came here but it seems to have found me.”

It wasn’t the same star every night - stars changed with the seasons - but he always looked for the brightest one. This one seemed to wink in reply.

He said, “It should be you. They would have accepted you.”

“Well, it’s true, we don’t see many black mages in Cornelia anymore,” said Kane’s voice. Jack sat up and looked around, spying the guardsman crossing the courtyard toward him, his white uniform still pristine in the moonlight, a yellow rose pinned to his collar - Jack was sure _that_ hadn’t been there earlier. The noise of the fountain must have covered his approach. “But I’m not as quick to judge as some.” He paused to pick up and inspect one of Lena’s discarded shoes, cocking an eyebrow at Jack.

“Long story,” Jack said.

Kane shrugged, setting the shoe down again, and circled around the fountain so that he too could lay down.

“You’re not afraid of me?” Jack asked.

Kane made a dismissive noise in the back of his throat. “The soul reader trusts you. That’s fine in my book.”

Not only trusted him, Jack thought, but called him friend. He wished he knew what Lena had seen that day in the throne room. He wouldn’t have considered himself trustworthy.

“Who were you talking to?” Kane asked.

He hesitated, but, prompted by thoughts of his own trustworthiness, he decided to be honest with the guardsman. “My mother.”

“I’m sorry.” Kane sounded sincere. “Did you lose her in the fire?” he asked, then quickly said, “No, don’t answer that. That was insensitive of me.”

Jack wasn’t offended. “It was a long time ago.” Come to think of it, Kane, too, had called him friend.

Kane said nothing for a time, both of them laying on the fountain's wide edge, looking up at the sky. Then Kane said, shyly, “Can I ask you something? It’s just that, well, tomorrow, when we leave… I mean, I’ve never left Cornelia before. But you’ve travelled a long way, haven’t you?”

“Very,” said Jack. “So far that even the stars are different. It’s difficult to read them.”

Kane seemed excited by this news, his earlier bashfulness forgotten, “So it’s true! I’ve heard that black mages can read the future in the stars! Will you read them for me?”

Jack chuckled. “I’ll try. I’m afraid I lack that particular talent. I’ll have to work at it.”

“Take your time!” said Kane.

Jack focused on the blinking star he’d been speaking to when Kane arrived, and opened his senses to the aether from which all black mages drew their power. It flowed everywhere, but made patterns among and between the stars. Mages with more skill than he possessed could predict where it was going based on what they saw. With great effort, he could almost follow its flow.

What he saw was fear. He leaped to his feet.

“What?” said Kane. The guardsman was on his feet as well, hand to his sword hilt. “What did you see?”

Fear, not Kane’s, but connected to Kane, connected to himself. Connected to… He gasped. “Lena!”

There was a scream from the castle. They ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _As my beta reader said: “dun dun DUN!”_   
>  _Okay, I know, there was no ball in FF1. There sort of wasn't one in my original notes for this story either. The notes say, "Kane dances with the princess at a party." Almost five thousand words later, I can check that off my to do list._   
>  _Before I go, we need to talk about today’s “suggested soundtrack” from the notes at the beginning of the chapter. I know these days video games get TV commercials all the time, but that was not the case in 1999. If a game had a commercial back then, it was a huge deal. Can you imagine being a 16 year old girl, a Final Fantasy fan, a hopeless romantic at heart, and suddenly there’s a commercial for Final Fantasy VIII with this stunning ballroom scene in it? I could not WAIT to play that game, and when I did, I wasn't disappointed. I had a save file right before the ballroom scene, and I watched it over and over. I know it doesn’t look amazing by today’s CGI standards, but it will live in my memory forever as one of the most beautiful moments in the history of gaming. I was super pleased (over the moon, one might say) that the title of the song "Waltz for the Moon" fit the mood of this chapter so perfectly._


	9. Suspicion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Suspicion from Final Fantasy IV. Click[here](https://youtu.be/1YP2x11SqRg) for the original song on a thirty minute loop over on YouTube._

Kane ran ahead of him with a speed Jack couldn’t match. Not only was the guardsman more familiar with the castle, leading them through a back hallway Jack hadn’t been down before, but he ran with all the fluid grace of a man who often walked around in plate armor and was now unencumbered. Jack, on the other hand, spent most of his time in libraries, and no one ever had to outrun a book. The traditional robes, although more impressive than his leather coat, came down to the top of his boots and tangled around his legs as he ran. Worse yet, the scarf, which normally never bothered him, now hampered his breathing to the point of distraction.

At last they turned a corner and he recognized the corridor he’d escorted Lena through the day before. He slowed his pace, lungs aching. A trio of guards ran out of Sarah’s room, heading in different directions - messengers, most likely, carrying orders back to the barracks, fetching the king.

Kane stopped in the doorway, seemingly caught short by what he saw there. Jack scanned the room over the guardsman's shoulder. The large bed at the room’s center was disordered, bedding half dragged to the floor. There was no sign of the princess. Near the bed, two guards were busy binding the hands of an unconscious man whose black robes were cut in a similar fashion to the ones Jack wore now.

“Where is the princess?” Kane said.

The younger of the two guards ignored them, focused on the prisoner. The older one looked their way briefly, then returned to his task. He spoke almost dismissively, a man used to giving commands, perhaps a captain. “Carmine, isn’t it? See to the girl.”

For the first time, Jack noticed the smaller bed in the corner, where Lena wept silently, shivering in a white nightdress. He pushed past Kane to reach her, kneeling in front of her. Tears streaked her face. Her voice was soft, but Kane had moved close beside him. “They took her,” she said, obviously struggling to hold back her sobs.

“Shh,” Jack said. He grabbed the blanket from the floor behind him and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Breathe,” he said.

“Who?” Kane asked. “Who took her?”

“There were three of them,” she said. “That man there, and two others. One of them-”

She stopped speaking as the guards behind them muttered angrily. The older one ripped something from the prisoner’s prone form and held it up. From his fist dangled an amulet depicting a black sun.

Kane leaped to his feet when he saw it, cursing.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

“Brotherhood,” the captain spat.

Jack stood and started to move in for a closer look, but the look in the younger guard’s eye stopped him, a look of suspicion and fear. That, and Lena had grabbed the edge of his robes, bunching her fist in the fabric so that he couldn’t move more than two steps away from her. She was looking between him and the guard warily - she must have sensed the guard’s prejudice toward him. As far as that guard was concerned, Jack was just as guilty as the bound man. He sighed, but squashed his disappointment down, lest Lena should feel that too.

She relaxed her grip when he knelt before her again. He had wondered, while he waited in the courtyard that evening, hearing the noise of the festivities inside the castle, what it must be like to feel the emotions of others as this girl had said she could. How might it have worn him down over the years if he had felt the revulsion of others as keenly as he felt its effects? Would it have helped him understand the guards’ fear of him if he could see into their souls and read there the story of why they were afraid?  

For that matter, what had Lena seen that had made her so afraid? He turned to raise the question, but when he looked back at her, she was staring at her hands as though she expected them to be doing something. “I can’t cast anything!” she said, choking out the words. “Why can’t I cast anything?”

He leaned in closer, looking into her eyes, past them to where her power should be, and found her as empty as if she had Cured an entire army after a heated battle. To find out why, though, he would need to use his own magic. He glanced toward the guards. Both were staring at him. There was nothing for it.

“Hold still,” he told Lena. He raised his right hand, first two fingers raised, making the sign of the staff, and the aether swirled in response.

This was what made a black mage: not the ability to call on the aether to create spells, but the ability to see it. All life gave off an aura, and a bit of it was left behind wherever they went - all life, forever, going back to the dawn of time. This was the aether, life itself, shifting and flowing from one living thing to another like raindrops on a window, joining and parting and joining again for as long as the sun rose and set.

He opened himself to it, felt it flowing into him. Perhaps he could have completed his task without doing so, and with the guards still staring at him it might have been better to take a more subtle approach, but Lena and Kane were staring at him also, two people who had treated him with more respect these past three days than he had known in the whole of his life before that. For their sakes, he wanted answers.  

As the aether pooled within him, he felt the corona form around his eyes. The guards reacted instantly, stepping toward Jack, but Kane came between them.

“What is that black mage doing?” the younger of the two guards demanded, fear tinging his voice.

“I’m reading the aether,” Jack told him. His own voice remained calm: the aether demanded total control. “Don’t interrupt.”

He surveyed the room again, this time through the aether. The princess’s aura was everywhere, pale yellow, stronger in those parts of the room where she spent the most time, or around the possessions she used the most: the bed, the chair near the fireplace, the hairbrush on the dressing table. Around the bed in the corner, he detected Lena’s aura, a subtle blue shade, but very little of it clung to her. Instead, a wisp of it, like unspooled thread, trailed from her toward the center of the room, as if something had grabbed it and yanked it away. He told her, “I believe you’ve been the victim of a dark mage. He drew power off of you. It isn’t pleasant, but you’ll be alright.”

She nodded, marginally calmer.

The wispy blue line ended abruptly in a black tangle at the center of the room. That was unusual.

He stood, facing the prisoner, viewing him through the aether, and saw from him a similar thread of aura extending to the black mess. “This man, as well…” he said, frowning.

“What do you mean?” Kane asked.

“I mean his power has been drawn away.” Aside from the ethereal thread, though, the prisoner had almost no other aura at all, a sign that he had attempted to cast a spell bigger than his aether reserves could handle. That explained why he was lying there - no one could function when their aether was emptied completely. Unfortunately, there was no way to know what he’d been trying to do. “I can tell he’s a black mage, but he has no power left at the moment. You’ll need to find a better way to secure him. Those ropes won't hold him when his magic returns.”

The older guard, nodded, grudgingly. “How long do we have?”

Jack had no answer for that. He shrugged, considering how long it took him to recover after an exhausting day of spell practice. “Perhaps three hours.” That was a conservative estimate; it generally took an entire night’s sleep, but three hours may be enough time to work up the energy for a single spell. If the mage was crafty, a single spell would be enough.

The captain turned to the other guard and said, “Send word to the mage council.” The young guardsman saluted and ran out the door, the aether swirling behind him like mist.

Kane asked, “Why would they have attacked one of their own?”

“I don’t know,” said Jack, shaking his head. “If they weren’t expecting Lena to be here, if she surprised them, perhaps he got in the way when the others tried to silence her?” It was equally possible the escaped dark mage had simply decided his companion was expendable, stealing his power and leaving him behind. It was puzzling. Jack moved closer to Sarah's bed now, near the darkened spot where the aether pulsed black. He reached his senses toward it, retracting them hastily when he felt a sharp pain.

“Jack?” Lena asked, perhaps sensing his surprise.

“I’m alright,” he said. He made another sign with his hand, three fingers raised, thumb and little finger joined, and waved it through the disturbance as though he were pushing it out of the way, like parting a cobweb to see the spider underneath, and there it was: a trace of otherness, a scrap of aether displaced from elsewhere, harmless, but out of place. He turned to Kane. “I can also detect traces of a Teleport spell.”

His friend said nothing, but turned and walked stiffly from the room. Jack watched him go, alone now in the room with the captain, the prisoner, and Lena. He released his hold on the aether, letting it dissipate, and sat beside the white mage on the little bed, suddenly conscious of how very late it was.

“Kane’s furious,” Lena whispered.

“He hides it well,” Jack said.

He heard a commotion as more people arrived; the king and Lord Redden entered the room, flanked by two more guards. Lord Redden stopped just inside the door, speaking with Kane in the hall. The king, though, strode the length of the room, stopping when he saw Jack there. Jack fought the urge to avert his eyes, wondering if the guard captain would mention his earlier use of forbidden magic, but then the king turned his attention to the insensate man on the floor, eyes burning with anger.

King Cascius wasn’t a tall man, but he was powerfully built, and unlike Kane, he did not hide his anger well. As he inspected the amulet the captain handed him, he shook with barely suppressed rage; Jack imagined him as the warrior he must have been in his youth. The king turned to Lena and barked, “What did you see?”

Jack flinched at his tone, though Lena did not. He supposed she would have sensed his temper, known what was coming. Her voice was raw from her earlier crying but remained steady. “A noise woke me. I saw three men. One was using black magic. He didn’t see me. I tried to read him, but…” She trailed off, closing her eyes as if what she'd seen was too much.

“Tell me!” The king ordered.

Lena shuddered. “His soul was evil. I could feel it. That’s when I screamed.”

“Is that when he attacked you?” Jack asked. It would fit with his earlier theory about the drained mage.

“I’m not sure. But the one who took the princess…” She shook her head as if the memory was too terrible to consider. Her voice became hardly more than a whisper. “It was General Garland!”

The reaction from the guards was instantaneous. Murmuring filled the room. Even Jack sat up straighter at this revelation. He looked toward Kane in the doorway, but the young guardsman’s face had gone pale.

Lord Redden squeezed his son’s shoulder, steadying him. To Lena, he asked, “You're sure?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Impossible!” the king growled. “Garland left the castle days ago! No one’s seen him since.”

“I beg your pardon, your majesty, but that isn’t so,” the guard captain said. “The general arrived at the south gate not an hour past. He said you had summoned him and that he was to report to you directly.”

“I gave no such order!”

“Your majesty,” the captain went on, “the general was attended by two serving men.”

The king flushed scarlet from his neck to his crown. He stepped close to the captain, his face only inches from the other man’s. “And you just let them in without question? Without so much as an escort?”

“Please, your grace, had it been anyone but the general, we would have been more thorough.” Sweat was beginning to bead on the captain’s brow, but his voice remained steady.

The king turned and spoke to Lena again, motioning toward the prisoner, his words clipped and sharp. “Heal this man!”

The white mage shrank within her blanket. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean, ‘can’t’?” the king shouted.

“Cascius!” Redden said sharply, stepping away from the door at last. “You forget yourself.” Without waiting for Lena’s explanation, he knelt beside the prisoner and placed a glowing hand over his head.

Lord Redden’s healing spells lacked the elegance of those cast by a born white mage. Jack had seen the like before. While Redden could feel and manipulate the aether, he could not see it. Instead, after years of studying magical theory, Redden had achieved a rudimentary ability with both black and white magic by feel, using his will alone. It was called blood magic, due to its physical nature, but most people knew it as red magic. There were several red mages back home in Crescent Lake, none of them young; such skills took time.

The spell worked, unrefined though it was, like stitching with an awl rather than an embroidery needle. In response to the crude Cure, the man gasped, thrashing in his bonds. His eyes flew open, darting about the room, but his mouth compressed into a thin line.

The king grabbed him by the front of his robes. “Where has he taken her?” he growled.

The man smiled mirthlessly. “Well outside the city by now.”

“Where?” the king repeated.

When the man said nothing, only continued to smile, the king slapped him so hard that the room rang with it. Lena whimpered at the sound and Jack wondered if she felt other people’s pain as well as their emotions.

“How long has he worked for you?” said the king.

The man laughed. “Never! We work for him!”

“You lying dog!” one of the three guards said, surging forward, but the others held him back.

The king and Lord Redden exchanged glances. “That can't be,” said Redden.

“Believe what you like,” said the man. “The ritual will be completed at sunrise. You’ll never find them in time.”

“Ritual?” asked Kane.

“The Dark Lord demands a sacrifice. Only then can He be revived.”

The king dove for the bound mage, hands aiming for his throat, but Lord Redden pushed him back, struggling to hold off his angry friend. Kane rushed to his father’s aid, grabbing King Cascius by the back of his shirt and hauling him to his feet.

“Take him to the dungeons,” Redden told the guards.

The captain directed the others to stand the man up, preparing to march him down the hall. Lord Redden was already steering the king toward the door, but from his place beside Lena, Jack saw the bard sway as though taken by a sudden dizziness, a red flash as a small piece of his aura was torn from him.

Lena cried out in alarm - she must have sensed something - and Jack saw a fire spell burn the prisoner’s bonds away, saw him pull the captain’s sword with his now free hands. Jack reached for the aether, but lost it when a blast of air flung away the guards and tossed both Jack and Lena back into the bed.

Time slowed to a crawl. Jack clamored for the aether, scrambling his way free of the bed. He saw the man rushing forward, sword aimed at the king’s retreating back. The king was turning around now, but would never see the blow in time to dodge it. But then Kane was there, his own sword blocking the man’s strike mere inches from its intended target. The young guardsman stood face to face with the dark mage, their swords locked together, arms straining. Jack could see the man drawing on the aether, saw his eyes replaced with a corona of red flame, preparing a fire spell Kane was powerless to stop.

And then Jack’s hand closed on the nearest weapon he could find, the fireplace poker, and he raised it up and brought it down with an arm-jarring clang. The corona of the man’s eyes winked out as he slumped to the floor.

Kane shook as he resheathed his sword. “Thank you,” he said to Jack.

But Jack was looking past him. “Lord Redden?”

“I’m fine.”

Kane turned. His father was pale as he leaned against the door frame. He looked back at Jack, horrified. “He drew power off of my father?”

“A small portion. Only enough to escape his bonds. Perhaps it was all he could manage in his drained state,” Jack said.

Lena was aiding the captain to his feet, though she could not yet cast anything. The captain pushed her away, but stood slowly as if it pained him. “What was that?” he said angrily to Jack. “You said we had hours yet before his magic was restored!”

“I apologize,” Jack said. “I didn’t know he was a dark mage. I couldn’t have predicted what he would do.”

“And what do you know?” the king asked, quivering with the force of his fury. He strode forward, grabbing Jack by the front of his robes so forcefully that the scarf covering his face shifted below his chin, exposing his scars. The king, though, focused on his eyes, as if he too was a soul reader and could see Jack’s deepest thoughts. “Ten years Garland worked for me and I never once suspected him. You’ve been here three days. What proof do I have that you aren’t one of them too?”

“Cascius!” said Redden. “Don’t.”

“Stay out of this!” the king snapped to his friend. He turned his attention back to Jack. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t toss you in the darkest cell I have.”

Every eye in the room was on him, the lone black mage in a castle that feared and hated black mages, his only allies an apprentice white mage, a low-ranking guard, and an old man who was rapidly trying the king’s patience. But he _was_ a black mage, the only one they had. _Let them see what good a black mage can do,_ he thought.

“I can find your daughter.”

The king blinked in confusion.

“What?” said Kane.

“How?” said the king.

“With black magic. I can do it.”

“Black magic is forbidden,” the king growled.

“That hasn’t stopped them,” Jack said, cocking his head toward the robed figure in the floor.

He kept his eyes on the king, whose stare bored into him. _I mustn’t look away,_ he thought. _I will lose this if I look away._ But it was the king who broke eye contact first, and Jack felt the humiliation sharp and hot when he realized the king was now looking more closely at his scarred face. He had trouble keeping his gaze steady when the king looked him in the eye a second time.

“I’m supposed to believe you’re a Warrior of Light,” the king said, coldly.

Jack could think of no response to this, so he said nothing.

He stumbled as the king released him roughly. Lena was beside him, steadying him, clinging tightly to his arm. The king was halfway out the door before Jack had his feet properly under him.

“Find her,” the king said, but it was to Kane that he spoke, as though he could no longer stand the sight of Jack. “The four of you. You three and that thief boy, if you truly are the Warriors of prophecy, prove it.”

He turned toward the door again, but the guard captain called after him, “Your majesty! What of the prisoner?”

“Execute him,” the king said, evoking a gasp from Lena. “Preferably before he wakes up.”

“Cascius...” Redden said again, softly, pleadingly.

“No,” said the king, though he sounded more sad than angry now. “We’ve been at war with them long enough. They’ve gone too far, Redden.” He turned toward Jack again. “Know that the same fate awaits you if you fail.”

“I won’t fail,” Jack said, but the king was already gone.

The guards hauled the condemned man, still unconscious, from the room leaving the four of them alone at last: Jack, the young guardsman and his father, and Lena.

“He wouldn’t,” said Redden, scrubbing his face with his hands. “You must believe me, Jack. He’s not that kind of man. He speaks out of grief only. It’s his daughter he’s worried about.”

“I know,” Jack said. Lena still gripped his arm, and he knew from her uneven breathing that she was crying again, soundlessly as she had before. “We need to move. A single Teleport could have taken him outside the city walls, but no farther.”

“What if he cast it more than once?” Kane asked.

“If the Brotherhood had a single mage that powerful, the city would have fallen to them by now. Lord Redden, I wonder if you would find Thadius, please, and bring him here while I start the tracking spell. Kane, go back to our rooms and fetch my coat and staff. I don’t know where we’re going, but I’m not wearing these robes.”

When only himself and Lena were left, he pulled her hand from his arm and faced her. “There’s something you can do for me too, my lady.”

He realized with chagrin that he had not yet straightened his wayward scarf, but it was too late now: she was looking at him, eyes brimming. “What can I do?” she asked.

“Stop holding back,” he said. “Whatever you’re feeling, feel it. Cry if you must. Then get dressed. I’ll wait outside.” He bowed, then left, and as he closed the door behind him, he heard her sobbing at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter was uncooperative in a lot of ways. Originally, it was going to be from Kane’s point of view and you were going to get more insight about his relationship with Sarah and a few things he knew about the king, but it absolutely wasn’t working. Despite all the feels Kane was having at the situation, the chapter was coming off flat. My beta suggested it would be more interesting to see Jack’s POV here, since he’s doing all the cool stuff with the aether. I scrapped what I’d already done (2000 words!!!), started over, and the chapter basically wrote itself. So, thanks for that, Dizzy._   
>  _Just so you know, after the line “no one ever had to outrun a book”, I REALLY wanted to make a Final Fantasy V “Library of the Ancients” joke, I REALLY did, but no matter how I tried, it just destroyed the flow of the paragraph. But I’m still giggling at the idea._


	10. Find Your Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Find Your Way from Final Fantasy VIII. Click[here](https://youtu.be/Mn0T6Xh5VXY) for the original song or [here](https://youtu.be/OKLwfRklOHg) for the gorgeous piano version over on YouTube._

Lena didn’t let herself cry for long. Once she was alone in the princess’s room it was easier to process her own emotions. The king’s anger, Kane’s desperation, the guards’ prejudice - it had been too much, too fast, on top of her own fear. It  _ was  _ frightening waking up to find those men in the room with her, but they were gone now, and it only took a few moments’ focus to work through that fear and let it go at last. She changed out of the nightdress into what she had been planning to wear when they started their journey in the morning: a white hood, less fine than the one she’d worn to the ball earlier, over a nut-brown tunic and short pants. Among her supplies she found the iron hammer, a traditional white mage symbol, that Father Branford had given her on her visit to White Hall that morning and slipped it into her belt, checking her appearance in the mirror over the dressing table to be sure she didn’t look as ragged as she felt. 

Thadius stood in the hallway when she opened the door, hair disordered, eyes red, as though he too had been sleeping before the night had taken this unexpected turn. He yawned, but smiled when he saw her. “I’m supposed to escort you to the courtyard,” he said, offering her his arm as he’d likely seen the older boys do. It was the wrong arm, but she took it anyway, enjoying how pleased it made him and soothed by his little boy chatter as they walked: what fun the ball had been, he said, and how great the food, but how stuffy and itchy the green velvet tunic he’d worn, and so on until they stepped out into the courtyard. 

It was just as she had left it after the ball: lit by the full moon, the scent of roses in first bloom, the tall black mage near the fountain alongside her discarded dancing shoes. But Jack wasn’t alone this time. Redden, Kane, and Orin were all there, watching as Jack performed a spell similar to the one he’d done in Sarah’s room. He made a sign with his right hand, eyes lit from the aether within. He was wearing his black coat again, carrying the staff he’d had when she met him.

“Ah, Lena. You’re just in time,” Orin said. “Master Jack said it would only be a few minutes. He did suggest that you might like to sit by the fountain when you arrived, but try not to disturb him.”

She wasn’t sure what he was doing, and so didn’t know what might disturb his work, but she did want to put her feet in the water again. She edged her way toward it, leaving as much space between her and the mage as she could without landing in the thorny rose bushes, and toed off her sandals beside the other shoes. She eased her feet into the water, which was at first as cold as it had been that morning, but then wasn’t - it was pleasantly hot. She looked over her shoulder at Jack, but the mage hadn’t moved, still staring off into the middle distance as he read the aether. 

One of his glowing eyes might have winked at her, but it could have been her imagination. She turned back to the water, feeling it against her feet, luxuriating in the warmth, and let her mind wander. 

She hadn’t realized she had been able to feel Jack’s casting until she felt its absence when he finished his work several minutes later. The air suddenly felt less stuffy, the night noises clearer.

“Well?” Kane asked him.

“We go north,” said Jack. 

* * *

Thad had never been to the countryside before. His journey from Pravoka to Cornelia had been by ship, from a captain who had owed Pappy a favor. He had always wondered what it would be like to visit a forest; now, more than an hour into the one that surrounded Cornelia, he wondered why the king hadn’t cut it down. Thad had tripped over more roots, sticks, and leaf piles than he ever thought he would see in his life. Though the moon provided plenty of light, the trees obscured most of it. 

Jack led them, his eyes shining in that disturbing way - less brightly than they had back in the courtyard while he worked his spell, but still noticeably, like a cat’s eyes reflecting the moonlight. Kane walked beside him wearing the red leather armor all guards wore on patrol, hacking at the undergrowth with his sword, asking questions about Jack’s “aether sight”. Thad had walked beside them at first, listening intently to the mage’s explanation, though he hadn’t understood most of it. Then Kane had asked about reading the future in the stars and he lost the thread of the conversation altogether. What did stars have to do with anything?

When he tried to ask Jack a question, Kane had been snappy with him, saying, “The grown ups are talking, Shipman,” so Thad had slowed his pace to walk with the others. 

“You mustn’t think badly of him,” Lena said. “The princess is his friend, and he’s worried about her. Just give him space.”

As they walked, Lena pointed out the medicinal properties of various plants. Orin told him which mushrooms were edible and how to find them. He imagined himself lost in the woods, surviving on his wits alone with his trusty sword by his side, but then there was a chittering in the trees around him, and he was afraid. Lena must have been afraid too, for she grabbed his hand and squeezed it. 

“What is that?” he asked.

“Imps,” Lord Redden said. The bard followed warily, in his silly feathered hat, looking often behind them and into the trees, which were thinning out now as they left the forest behind. 

“Shall we risk a torch?” Orin asked him.

“I think so.”

As Redden searched the undergrowth for a suitable branch, Orin explained, “There are things in the forest that might be attracted to the light, but imps fear fire. You needn’t worry - they aren’t skilled fighters, and are unlikely to attack a group as large as ours.”

Lord Redden rejoined them, holding two large branches, one of which he handed to Thad. “Here you are, boy. Hold it up like this.”

He did as instructed. Lord Redden said a strange word, something like “cheela”, and suddenly the end of the branch caught fire making Thad jump in surprise.

“Steady on,” Orin said, laughing as he took the torch before Thad could drop it.

“First black spell I’ve cast in nearly twenty years,” the bard said. “I’m pleased it worked!”

“That was magic!” Thad said. “You can do magic?” 

Redden chuckled, motioning for him to start walking again. Thad and Lena walked ahead of the two men. It was easier with the meager light of the torches. “Some. Though it’s taken years to learn it.”

“I want to learn it! Can anyone learn it?”

“Not everyone, but perhaps you can,” said Redden. “Even those born with the power have to learn how to use it. Some born without, like myself, pick it up as they go.”

“So can you read the aether like Jack does?”

“No, I’m what’s called a red mage. I can control the aether but can't see it.”

Thad looked at Lena, who must have found the torchlight comforting, for her hold on his hand had lessened. “Can a white mage do it?” he asked. 

She stepped carefully over a cluster of tree roots. “Not quite. White mages can only see the aether in living things. I can read your aura to see if you’re in need of healing, but I can’t see the traces of aether you leave behind.”

“So he’s looking at… dead aether?” Thad asked, gazing ahead of him at the mage’s back in both fascination and horror.

Lord Redden shook his head, making his hat feather wave in a funny way. “Aether doesn’t die. It just is. Sometimes it dwells within a living soul, sometimes it flows through the countryside. It's all the same aether. That’s what a black mage sees.”

They passed one last stand of trees and were free of the forest at last. Thad looked out over a sea of tall grass, eerily silent, with only a soft whisper from the breeze that rippled the stalks. Jack and Kane were farther ahead of them on the open ground. 

“What do-” Thad started to say, but before he could finish the question, Orin grabbed his shoulder. 

“Hush,” the monk hissed. He seemed to be listening for something. “Come along quietly.” 

Ahead of them, the other two had stopped on a small rise. Kane stood, sword ready, looking into the waist-high grass just ahead of them. “Did you hear that?” he asked when Thad and the others caught up with him.

Orin nodded. Thad hadn’t heard anything. Then, he realized the chittering had stopped. He felt his hand in Lena’s again, gripped it tight. 

“Slowly,” said Kane. “Stick together.” He took one step.

A scream ripped through the night, high and sharp like a sea bird’s call. Something small, no bigger than Thad himself, launched into Kane. The guardsman roared in pain, bringing his sword around in an arc that flung creature away. It landed in the clearing at their feet, its belly slashed open, blood glistening by the torch light. 

Others appeared, surrounding them. Thad couldn’t move. Kane fended them off with his sword, Jack fought skillfully with his staff, and Thad could hear Redden and Orin fighting behind him, but still he couldn’t move. Without thinking, he’d dropped to his knees, covering his head, trying to make himself smaller.

Lena knelt over him, wrapped her arms around him. “Stop!” he heard her call. “Please stop!”

But the noises of battle went on and on, tapering off as the escaping imps’ chittering faded into the trees behind them. Finally, there was only the sound of weeping, Lena’s and his own. 

“They were afraid of us!” Lena said, releasing her hold on Thad. “They were only trying to get away! It needn’t have come to this!”

“They attacked me first!” Kane protested. He growled as he turned his sword arm to inspect the small, jagged cut the first imp had left there. 

“Let me get that,” Redden said, placing a glowing hand on his son. “I’m surprised they attacked us at all. They aren’t usually so bold.”

Kane shuddered as his father’s magic flowed through him. “Maybe they’ll think twice next time. The sooner they learn not to attack humans, the better it will go for them.” 

Orin helped Thad to his feet, but Thad couldn’t stop shaking.

“Were you hurt?” the monk asked.

Thad shook his head. “I couldn’t do anything.” He looked down at the sword on his belt, the sword he hadn’t even thought to draw. 

“You will learn.” He led Thad over to where Kane and Redden stood, looking out into the grasslands below, which glittered in the moonlight like a starry sky - puddles, Thad realized. They had come upon a marsh. 

“I know where we are,” Redden said. “Gods help us, I think I know where we’re going.”

* * *

“My lady?” 

Jack stood over her, hand extended to help her up, but Lena was too heartsick to stand. She shook her head. “Could you step away?” she said. “I need a moment, please.”

He said nothing, but gave her her privacy.

On the ground in front of her, the poor creature Kane had struck struggled for breath in an ever widening pool of its own blood. It had been afraid - and acted out of fear - when Kane had nearly stepped on it in its hiding place, but its fear was fading now as it faced death. In the tall grass nearby, she could sense others watching, sensed their sadness. They were only animals, but they could still feel. Perhaps this one was a father, or brother, or son to the silent watchers. She didn’t know. 

What she did know was that a creature lay dying in front of her, and she was a white mage. She glanced toward her companions - the five of them waited for her on the hilltop, but none were looking her way. Her power was still weak from the dark mage attack earlier, but she had enough for this.

Even when she touched the imp, it didn’t fear her. It watched her curiously, eyes dazed. She thought she might be too late, but then that tiny, wild soul opened up and greedily drank in the Cure as she cast it. The wound in the creature’s belly knitted together. 

The imp tensed, and she backed away on hands and knees, never breaking eye contact. She had no more than taken her hands off the creature when it sprang up, baring its teeth at her. She scrambled back, falling onto her bottom when her knees pinned her white robe beneath her, but the imp made no move toward her. It stood, glaring, confused and frightened, waiting, and when she did nothing but stare back at it, it vaulted into the grass and was gone.

She pushed to her feet and made her way unsteadily toward her companions, sure they would be able to hear the thundering of her heart. Thadius reached for her hand once more, and they began their journey again, following Jack into the marsh ahead. She knew the imps were still there, watching them, for she could feel them. Their sadness was gone.  _ They  _ will  _ think twice before they attack humans again _ , she thought. As she left the tall grass behind, the breeze rustled the field, carrying with it one last quiet chittering and the gratitude of the imps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _O.M.G. Imps. I hate them. In the original game, they’re everywhere. You can’t take two steps out of Cornelia without encountering a group of 85* of them. Not only that, but in the NES version (thought they changed this in later versions) you had to select your targets in a fight carefully: if your fighter killed the imp before your thief took a turn, the game would not automatically switch your thief to another target and your thief’s turn was wasted. Screw every bit of that noise, people. Ugh._   
>    
>  _Let’s talk about the map: when my brother and I got this game (many) years ago, it came with a poster of the world map (with dungeon maps on the back) and I consult the map often as I write, but, well, I’m taking a few liberties with it. A lot of liberties. All the liberties, really. For example, on the trip from Cornelia to, um, the place we’re going (I assume you’re here because you played the game and you already know, but no spoilers) we pass through a forest, a field, another forest, a marsh, and, for a delightful change of pace, a forest. Yeah, I don’t want to write about all of that landscape and you probably don’t want to read it. So here’s your FDA warning: Map subject to change._
> 
> _*This is an exaggeration, but only just._


	11. Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Battle from Final Fantasy I. Click[here](https://youtu.be/XSbttZrg0KQ) for a cool orchestrated version or [here](https://youtu.be/z6S5Sd57nyI) for a hardcore death metal version over on YouTube._

Jack’s breath caught when he saw the temple. It was exactly as Lord Redden had described: a many-pillared ruin of white stone jutting out of a bare patch of earth where nothing would grow. According to the legends, it had been grand once, a temple to the gods of ancient Cornelia in the time before Leifen fell, but then a demon had appeared there and devoured the four high priests in a single night, leaving the land cursed and the temple itself shrouded in a poisonous black fog.

“It isn't really poisonous,” the bard had said. “That's just the common folk letting the story get away from them.”

Now that he stood before it, Jack thought it was easy to see how people had come to that conclusion. The fog moved unnaturally in the predawn gloom, swirling counter to the breeze and clinging to the temple’s lower stones like an impenetrable scab rather than drifting about the grounds. But up close, he could see it for what it truly was. “That’s no fog,” he said when Kane stopped beside him. “It's the aether here.”

“Aether?” said Kane. “But we can see it! Surely we can all see it?” He glanced behind him toward the others. Orin and the boy nodded, agreeing with him. Lena only stared, face expressionless.

“Jack’s right.” Lord Redden explained, “The aether here doesn’t flow as it should. The scholars say it’s as if something is holding it in this place. That fog has been building for hundreds of years.”

Jack stepped forward for a closer look, though he stopped several feet short of the thick mist. Four stone steps, their corners softened by time, lead up to a double door, one half of which hung crooked on rusty hinges. He could see the normal flow of aether going into the fog, but nothing coming out, as though it were congealing before his eyes. Kane followed him, leaning in close to ask, “You’re sure this is the way? We don’t have time to make mistakes.” The guard’s eyes flicked to the eastern horizon, which was noticeably lightening now. Sunrise was nearly upon them; after sunrise, they would be too late.

Jack nodded. “The trail leads straight to it.” He’d followed the ragged edges of the teleport spell to a field north of Cornelia. From there, it had been a simple matter to follow the traces of the princess’s aura that had been left behind, along with those of the other two men. That trail had met up with several others going the same direction; those were hours older and almost entirely faded, but it meant Garland wasn’t alone. The various trails converged here, leading toward the ruins, but the auras stopped abruptly at the temple steps as though cut by a knife.

Kane stepped toward the ruin, determined, but Jack grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Wait,” he said, eyeing the truncated aura trail. “There’s some sort of barrier there.”

Kane squinted at the fog-veiled stones. “I don’t see anything.”

Jack bit back a sarcastic reply and instead cocked an eyebrow at him. He raised his hands in front of his chest, summoning a ball of fire between them with a tiny “woosh”. “Do you see this?” he asked. He hefted it once as if it was as substantial as a stone, then threw it into the fog in front of them. The fireball slammed against an invisible wall, throwing sparks in all directions as it fizzled out.

Kane lowered the hand he’d raised to shield his face. “Fine, so there’s a barrier. Can we pass through it?”

“Possibly,” said Jack, trying to recall what he knew of magical shields, which wasn’t much. “Or it could kill anything that touches it. I’ll have to do more tests.”

Kane let out a frustrated breath. “How exactly do you test something like that?”

“I don’t know,” he said, completely unfazed by Kane’s tone. “Throw something at it and see what happens, I suppose.”

As he began preparing his next spell, Thad stepped up beside them, carrying one of Lord Redden’s torches, peering into the fog. “Excuse me,” Kane said, plucking the torch from the boy’s fingers.

“Hey!” Thad protested, but Kane had already tossed the flaming branch toward the obstruction.

It stopped in midair, the black fog swirling around it, buzzing like a hornet’s nest, throwing off streaks of white lightning. It went on for only a second or two, then the blackened branch landed at their feet, smoking. Thad whimpered, peeking out from behind Orin.

“Not what I meant…” Jack muttered.

“Whoa,” said Lena, face pale. It was the first word she’d said since the attack in the clearing. She stepped forward cautiously, reaching for the branch, and stopped with her hand outstretched. She seemed to be staring at the charred torch. No, not that, Jack realized, but at the orb she wore tied to her wrist. It glowed blue. The fog in front her shimmered with the scant light of it, the blackness fading in that one spot.

He looked to Kane, but the guardsman was staring eastward again, at the brightening sky. Jack cuffed his shoulder to get his attention. Kane turned, annoyed at first, but then his eyes grew wide. He stepped forward, raising his sword toward the barrier, and, as Jack had suspected, the yellow jewel in the pommel seemed to push back the fog. Lena stood beside him, holding out her wrist, and the two orbs together began to hum as they had in the market square.

Jack removed his hat long enough to pull the chain of his own orb over his head. It glowed red as an ember, and he held it up beside Kane’s sword. The barrier billowed in front of them.

“Now you, Shipman,” Kane said.

Orin guided the boy forward, his green orb in hand, and the four of them stood side by side. The hum intensified, then crashed around them with a sound like a tolling bell. The fog roiled.

“Did it work?” Kane asked, and his voice echoed through the sudden silence.

Jack peered intently at the aether trail he’d been following. Where it had ended abruptly before, it now continued up the temple’s wide steps and into the doorway beyond. “Yes,” he said. “I think so.”

Lord Orin stepped in beside them, knelt to pick up the former torch, and tossed it ahead once more; this time, it fell harmlessly to the ground near the bottom-most step. The old man walked after it - Lena gasped, reaching out to stop him - but he, too, was unharmed. “I believe the way is now clear,” he said.

“What did we just do?” Thad asked.

Jack tried to think of a way to explain that the boy would understand. “They're connected, the orbs and this aether cloud. I don't know how or why. It could be something in the temple’s history, or theirs, or it could be a coincidence. Whatever the reason, they called to each other.” Both the boy and Kane stared at him, uncomprehending. He paused, searching for the right words. “Picture it like throwing a rock into a still pool. The waves we caused were enough to break the barrier.”

“I don’t like it,” Kane said. “Why bother with a barrier that’s so easily broken? How do we know this isn’t a trap?”

The mage had to admit that he too found it disturbing. “It can't have been anchored well if it was so easily undone,” he said, stepping forward, looking up at the building’s heights. He stepped over the place where the barrier had been, and staggered, for it felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. He grunted in surprise, losing his hold on the aether. It was the same searing pain he’d felt when he tried to read the black aether in Princess Sarah’s room, only far worse. If not for his staff, he would have fallen over.

Kane and Lena rushed to either side of him. “What is it?” Kane said.

“By the gods!” he hissed. He heard Lena gasp at that.  _ Great _ , he thought, clenching his teeth to hold back further curses.  _ Blaspheme in front of the white mage. Nice going _ . He focused on his breathing and shook his head, trying to clear it. It was several moments before he was able to speak again. “I’m fine,” he said, shrugging Kane off, though Lena still hovered on his other side. “Don’t trouble yourselves.”

He took another steadying breath, still leaning heavily on his staff, and opened himself to the aether once more. None came. He extended his senses out to it, tried to draw it in, and felt the pain again. “I can't hold it,” he said. It came out in a whisper, though he hadn’t meant it to.

“What?” Kane said. “What are you talking about?”

“The aether,” Jack said, louder. “I can’t hold it here.” He looked over his shoulder toward Lord Redden. Kane turned, following his gaze.

The bard closed his eyes, seeming to be in deep concentration, then shook his head. “I can't manage it either.”

“Are you saying you can't do magic here?” Kane asked. “We came all this way to face a pack of rogue mages and you’re telling me we can't use magic against them?”

Jack, recovering now, stood up to his full height again. “That's exactly what I’m saying.”

Kane’s shoulders slumped. “There could be an army of dark mages waiting in there. Without magic, it’s suicide.”

“Something tells me it won't be as one-sided as all that,” Lord Orin said. They looked up to find him standing at the top of the steps, before the temple door. He pointed down at a patch of the black fog beside the steps that seemed thicker than the rest, because, of course, it wasn’t fog at all but a midnight-black robe worn by a dead man.

He had been perhaps forty, blond of hair, beardless, his eyes cloudy as though he’d been dead for days, though Jack doubted that was the case. In addition to the robe, he wore the black sun pendant of the Penumbra Brotherhood. Lena knelt beside him, touching him with one glowing hand. “He’s still warm,” she said. “But I can’t tell how he died. His body seems healthy.” Lena tilted his head gently, looking intently at his eyes. “I think he was blind,” she said.

“No, girl,” Lord Redden said. “He was blinded. That’s part of what killed him. I think the stories were right: that fog  _ is _ poisonous.”

“Are you kidding me?” said Thad, looking uneasily at his foggy surroundings.

“Not like that. I think he tried to draw on this rotten aether and burned to death from the soul out,” Redden explained.

Aether burn. It was incredibly rare. Jack had only read a few stories that mentioned the phenomena. There’d be no physical sign of it, save where the corona burned out his sight. “He must have been the one casting the barrier,” Jack guessed. _Easily broken because he died before he finished it,_ he thought. “At least we won’t have to worry about them using magic against us.” He turned back to Kane as he said it, but the guardsman wasn’t looking at him anymore: he was facing east, and when the rim of the sun climbed into view, he bolted toward the temple door.

* * *

 

The loose door fell from its crumbling hinges as Kane slammed into it. The others called after him, tried to tell him to wait, but he picked himself up again and kept running. Sunrise. They were out of time.

It was dark inside. He heard chanting, echoing through the stone corridors in a language he didn’t understand. There was light far ahead of him through another doorway, a towering arch guarded by a man in a black robe. He shouted when he saw Kane, pulled a curved dagger from his belt. Kane ran straight for him, sword ready, not knowing what he would do when he reached him, but it didn’t matter: Lord Orin was faster and soon pulled ahead of him, dodging the man’s knife, catching his wrist and flinging him over. The man stayed down. When Kane caught up with him, Jack close on his heels, the monk said, “Keep moving.” 

Through the archway, Kane could see hooded figures evenly arrayed around an altar of stone. One of them stood over the altar, knife raised as he led the chanting, and on that altar was Sarah, struggling against the chains that held her down.

“Garland!” he shouted.

The name echoed through the chamber as the chanting stopped, replaced by the cultists’ surprised mutters as they turned to look at him. He could hear Sarah crying now. The man at the altar lowered his hood, smiling wickedly: the former general. “Kill him,” he said.

The cultists ran full-tilt toward Kane.

* * *

Jack had been right: Garland wasn’t alone. He counted quickly - ten of them.  _ Too many, _ he realized. “Kane!” Perhaps if they kept to the doorway, more defensible, but Kane was even now running to meet them.  _ Slow them down, _ he thought.

He braced himself and drew on the aether, staggering at the wrongness of it, stagnant, rotted like some dead animal left in the sun, but he didn’t need much for the simplest spell he knew, the first spell he’d ever mastered. He drew the heat from the left side of the room, covering the floor with a sheet of ice. Three of the hooded men running from that direction suddenly found their footing insecure, slipping, falling down.

He used the heat he’d drawn, added to it, transformed it into a wall of fire on his right extending the length of the dimly-lit chamber, cutting off four other men. It wouldn’t stop anyone for long, but it was less aether intensive, and even that had been more than he should have attempted. His head swam, and he fought against a sudden dizziness. He’d done all he could do with magic in this place. As the last of the charging cultists closed in on them, he released his hold on the aether, forced down the bile that rose in his throat, and readied his staff.

* * *

Redden and Lena charged past him through the archway, but Thad hung back, acutely aware that he didn’t know how to fight like the others did. In front of him, through the door to the central chamber, he could see them battling the hooded men, but closer still, one member of the Brotherhood lay in a heap in the floor. He’d watched Orin defeat him, throwing the man in much the same way he himself had been thrown around the armory by that Matteo boy on his first day as a Warrior of Light. The cultist was beginning to stir now, one hand coming up to rub his head as though it ached.

Thad sucker punched him in the jaw. The man fell back again. Thad waited, making sure he was down for sure. He thought,  _ He’s only going to wake up again if I leave him here,  _ then moved closer _. _

He drew the sword, but not to kill. Tearing and slicing at the man’s black robe, he soon had several long strips of fabric to work with and used them to tie the cultist’s hands and feet together. He was a Shipman, after all, and if there’s one thing you learn on a boat, it’s how to tie knots.

He sat back, admiring his handiwork, one less enemy to attack them from behind. There were probably more of them in there, ready to be tied up, if a boy was clever and sneaky about it. He gathered the rest of the shredded robe - he’d cut several extra strips - but before he left, he checked the man’s pockets for valuables. Because the gods could have chosen anyone as a Warrior of Light, but they had chosen a thief. 

* * *

Sword drawn, Redden fought side by side with his son. He was no match for Kane, but he was good enough. His sword work was a bit rusty after years of palace living, but at least he knew what to do with one. These Brotherhood members were obviously unused to working without their magic. Most had daggers, but only a few seemed to know how to use them effectively. He wished he knew the occult significance of this place, why they would choose to conduct their ritual here where they were effectively neutered. 

To his left, Jack stood at the edge of the icy patch, bludgeoning anyone who got through. The mage was holding his own with that staff of his, provided he only had to face one opponent at a time. It was something he could work on with the boy later. 

On his right, Orin fought near the fire Jack had started. It was burning out now, without continuing magic to sustain it, but it had been an effective distraction for a little while. The monk made good use of it, redirecting - or sometimes, outright tossing - his own opponents into the flames. “Have you no spells for me, friend?” the old man called. 

Both the fire and the icy floor only served to prove that magic was not altogether out of the question here, yet none of the cultists used it. Redden couldn’t blame them; if he hadn’t personally seen Jack casting, he would have said it was impossible. He had tried to call on the aether more than once, but hadn’t been able to summon so much as a candle flame. Twenty years out of practice, and only a red mage besides. Black magic was no good to him here.

Luckily, black magic wasn’t all he could do. He’d had plenty of white magic practice in the years since the ban. In fact, he truly excelled at a handful of white spells, the kind they didn’t teach the mages at White Hall, the kind that had nothing to do with healing. “If I remembered the incantation for Vanish, would you know what to do with it?”

“I may.”

Simple and direct. He’d always liked that about the monk. Redden smiled as the spell landed and Orin disappeared from view. A cultist screamed, attacked by a foe he couldn’t see. It wouldn’t last long, but, then again, it didn’t need to.

He turned back to Kane, fighting his way toward the altar. Garland stood there still, knife upraised, as he continued to shout whatever spell he was working over the noises of the battle.  _ Let’s see, _ the bard thought.  _ How did the incantation for Silence start?  _ It, too, had a short duration, but it wouldn’t take much to disrupt the spell.  _ Ah, yes... _

* * *

Lena knelt just inside the door, trying not to attract attention. The White Mage’s Oath forbade fighting, but she could still heal. Jack stumbled after casting his fire spell, so she threw a Cure toward him. Another Cure went to Redden, who had taken a slash from a cultist’s dagger. 

She did not try to heal the hooded men. Even when she knew a man would surely die after Kane’s sword laid him open, she didn’t heal him. The souls of the Brotherhood members were as closed off and hardened as if they were dying already, beyond the reach of white magic.

Redden shouted a string of nonsense syllables. She knew it was Leifenish, but she didn’t know the spell - a born mage didn’t need incantations to make the aether work, so she’d never learned them. Whatever it was, the bard thrust a hand toward Garland, who stumbled back from the altar, dropping the ritual knife.

“Garland!” Kane shouted again, fighting his way through the cultists who stood between him and the center of the room. “Face me!”

“If you insist,” Garland hissed, his voice raspy from Redden’s spell. He stepped down, drawing his sword, leaving the altar unattended.

_ The princess! _ Lena tried to separate herself from the emotions of the room, needing her wits about her now as she ran toward the altar, weaving between the fighters. One of the cultists aimed a blow at her, but an unseen entity grabbed the man’s wrist and threw him to the floor. She suspected that if she called up her soul sight, she would see the deep green of the monk’s aura swirling effortlessly through the attackers. She did not call it, though, afraid to view the members of the Penumbra Brotherhood too closely.

The princess, frantic and crying, screamed through the rag tied over her mouth. “Shh,” Lena said when she reached her, removing the gag.  “Hush now. I’m going to get you out of here.” She noticed the princess’s wrists, bleeding where she’d tried to pull free of her chains. She used another Cure there, the last she had in her, and pulled on the bonds, but they were stuck fast. “Hold still,” she said. She pulled her hammer from her belt and struck a ringing blow against the chains, to no avail.

“Let me see!”

She jumped at Thad’s voice, so close all of a sudden. If he had been an enemy, she would have been done for. The boy grabbed the princess’s wrist, inspected the manacle, his mouth pressed into a thin line of concentration. He emptied his pockets onto the altar, searching for something, pulling out a bundle of  string, a foreign coin, some playing cards, and a gold hairpin. This last he seized, bending it on the altar’s stone edge into a crooked shape.

“Did you steal that?” Lena asked, scandalized.

“Might have,” said Thad, ramming it into the locking mechanism. It snapped open after only a moment’s effort.

The boy climbed onto the altar, rather than running around it, to reach the other arm. Lena watched, fascinated, as he worked against the lock. “Stuck,” he said, wriggling the hairpin.

The princess looked up just then, and screamed. Lena turned, saw a cultist standing over her, knife poised to strike. She raised her hands, casting the white wall of Protect, barely stopping the knife in time. But she hadn’t had enough power left for a spell of that magnitude, could feel her knees buckling under her even as she saw the enemy raise his knife for another blow...

She saw Jack’s staff hit the man full in the face, knocking him senseless. Lena slid to the floor beside him, her power spent, and knew no more.

* * *

_ Focus, _ Kane thought. His sword was heavy in his hands, but he fought on. He could hear the sounds of battle still raging around him - he knew he couldn’t count on the others to come to his aid, busy as they were with their own fights. He focused on Garland’s movements, trying to ignore how weary he felt, but it was taking every ounce of concentration he had.

Garland knew it, too, for now that his voice had recovered he was speaking to Kane, trying to distract him. Kane didn’t listen at first - couldn’t listen, in fact. It was as if his sword was using up all the energy his ears would have needed to function - but eventually the words penetrated. “It’s your fault she’s here, you know. I’d never have taken her if it weren’t for you.”

Garland’s blade whiffed past his ear; Kane barely dodged it in time.  _ Focus, Kane. _

“Ten years! Ten years I waited for this day. The stars said it had to be this day! This day, in this place! And I would have had the king here, on our little hunting trip! Instead, you brought that soul reader to the castle. I had no choice but to flee before she found me out.”

_ Focus. _ Kane slashed at Garland, but the man parried with bone-jarring force, driving him back toward Jack’s magical fire, which was almost extinguished now.

“I’ll kill you for that, Carmine. You and the little soul reader, just like I killed the last one.”

Kane stumbled. Garland had killed Lady Aliana?

“And then the princess: a royal sacrifice worthy of the Dark Lord.” The former general chuckled as he raised his sword for another attack… and the sword was shaking.

Kane’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Garland more closely. The man was sweating and short of breath. It was all the young guardsman needed to see.

Kane had been up all night.  _ But so has he,  _ he realized. Kane had walked all the way from Cornelia.  _ But so did he. _ Kane was tired, yes, but he was also a Warrior of Light. With a roar, he threw himself at his enemy once again.

* * *

The manacle sprang open at last. “Come on!” Thad said, tugging the princess after him as he slipped down from the altar. She stumbled as she came down next to Lena, unconscious on the floor beside a cultist with a bloody broken nose. Not three paces away, Jack swayed as though drunk. The mage’s staff clattered to the floor as he sank to his knees. Behind him, a cultist rushed forward out of the dark, unarmed, but heading straight for him. 

“Jack!” Thad cried, but suddenly the rushing cultist doubled over as though he’d been punched in the gut, then flipped through the air in a move that by now was becoming familiar to Thad.  _ Is Orin… invisible?! _ he thought. It couldn’t be. He was seeing things. The stress of the fight was making him hallucinate.  _ It will be over soon,  _ he told himself.  _ Won’t it? _

He rose to an awkward crouch, peeking up over the edge of the altar. Kane was advancing! Garland had pushed him to the edge of the room, but now the red-headed guardsman was pushing back. They were heading straight towards the altar, straight towards him.  _ I can help! _ Thad considered the sword he wore, but dismissed the idea immediately; he had a better one.

“Stay here!” he said to the princess. Then he climbed atop the altar once more.

* * *

Garland’s eyes widened at Kane’s renewed assault. With each step, the general’s attacks became more desperate, his defense sloppy, giving Kane the advantage he needed to drive the man ahead of him, until they’d come to the stone altar at the room’s center. Garland could go no farther.

A figure waited there, but it wasn’t Sarah. With startling quickness, Shipman sprang up from a waiting crouch, aiming an attack at Garland’s hand, the one he’d extended back to steady himself when his heels had backed hard against the unyielding stone. 

The boy had rolled off the side of the altar before Kane could see what he’d done, but the distraction nearly cost him the fight. Garland managed to land a kick to his shin that left him wide open, reeling to catch his balance, but when the dark general raised his sword, stepping in for the kill, he was brought up short by the manacle Shipman had fastened to his wrist, chaining him to the altar. Kane found his feet again, twisted, taking his sword in both hands, and used the momentum of his potential fall to power the force of his upward strike.

He readied to strike again, but it was over. Garland screamed as his sword hit the stone floor with a clang, still gripped in the hand Kane had severed at the wrist. Kane stepped back, looking around the room. To his left, his father used the butt of his sword to knock one of the hooded cultists in the head, but he saw no other enemies still standing.

Shipman knelt beside the stone altar, trying to shake Lena awake. Kane wondered if she was dead, but Orin appeared and pushed the boy gently away, saying, “She’ll be alright. Let her be. You did well, young Shipman.” Jack wasn’t far from them, kneeling in the floor, clutching at his head as though it ached.

“Sarah?” he called.

“I’m here,” she said, rising from her hiding place on the altar’s side. She was filthy, and her face was red from crying, but she was alive.

Kane had taken a step toward her when something shifted - he could feel it in the air - and he looked back to find Garland glaring at him with eyes of black fire as the man prepared a spell. He readied his sword again, but already the general had raised his shackled hand, summoning a compact ball of darkness. Kane struck, knowing he would be too late, but Jack cried out, and the spell, when it left Garland’s hand, flew wide, missing Kane’s face by inches.

The thrust carried him forward, unstoppable, until the sword’s tip scraped against the altar stone and Garland’s blood ran hot over the hilt. Kane couldn’t let go, couldn’t make his hand release the weapon, his body unable to leave the fight even as his mind told him he’d run the man through, so he stood face to face with his enemy until the the wicked light faded from the man’s eyes at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This video game makes no sense when you get right down to it. Four total strangers with no weapons, no armor, no items, and no spells, roll up on Cornelia Castle essentially naked and the king is all, “Say, why don’t you go rescue my daughter?” Like, he didn’t have any more qualified (or better dressed) candidates lying around? I mean, sure, these are supposed to be the Light Warriors of prophecy and all, but come on. Do you know how many spells your baby mages can cast at level 1 in the first Final Fantasy game? Three. They get three. And I don’t mean they know three different spells – I mean they can cast three times and then they’re just there to look pretty._
> 
> _That sort of thing works in a video game, but as a story, the characters aren’t walking around with numbers above their heads telling you how many spells they can cast. I didn’t want my characters to be experts on everything, but I didn’t want to write about a bunch of complete noobs either. It’s a balancing act trying to portray them as the young and inexperienced people they are while still letting them kick ass. However, as one of my mentors once said, “When in doubt, darling, err on the side of kicking ass.”*_
> 
> _Also, shout out to Thad’s Gold Hairpin. Hopefully, no moogles were harmed in its acquisition. FF6 fans know what I'm talking about._
> 
> _*She may not have used those exact words._


	12. Sorrows of Parting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Sorrows of Parting from Final Fantasy V. Click[here](https://youtu.be/9p6kESa-IGg) for the original or [here](https://youtu.be/dhCth_Y9x_Q) for the piano version (in some kind of cool tutorial format? So I guess all you piano players out there can learn to play along) over on YouTube. The piano version has a long, slow intro, but stick with it! It’s pretty._

Jack tore at his scarf and managed to crawl no more than a few feet before he was violently ill. It had been hours since his last meal, before the ball, but still his stomach churned in response to the stagnant aether as if he’d been drinking pond scum. He was still dry heaving when a warm hand on his back brought a cool Cure to his aid.

“I know, lad,” Redden said behind him. “I know. I felt it too. I’m amazed you were able to cast at all.”

“Her,” he said, coughing. He waved his hand toward the altar, where Lena still lay on the floor, tended by Orin and Thad. “Cure her.”   

“I already have. She’s fine; she’s only emptied herself. She’d do better if we got her out of this aether, but it won’t cause her any worse hurt. You, though, we need to get outside. Can you stand?”

Jack nodded. He wasn’t sure if he  _ could _ stand, but he did need to leave this place. He grabbed Redden’s offered hand, let the older man pull him to his feet. The bard had found his staff somewhere, and he took it gratefully, glad to have something else to hold him up. He realized his hat was gone and looked around for it, but his eyes ached, and tiny sparks danced in his peripheral vision as he turned his head. 

The dawn light was still pale by the time he’d made his way painfully to the gaping doorway through which they had entered. It seemed like they had been fighting for hours, but Jack was surprised to see that it was just after sunrise. He stopped to catch his breath, panting from the effort, but Redden urged him on. “Just to that rise, now. You can rest on those stones.”

Away from the building, he felt the aether clear between one step and the next, like a blast of fresh air when he had been suffocating. He opened himself to it, let it flow into him for no other reason than to hold it. The corona stung his eyes and he gasped at the unexpected pain of it but the pain faded quickly, and with it the throbbing in his temples, the weakness in his limbs. 

“You’re not the strongest black mage I’ve seen, but you are by far the most determined, I’ll grant you that,” Redden said, helping him to a seat on a boulder facing the sun. “We’d have made quick work of them, you and I, if I could have drawn on the aether back there. And you managed three spells altogether? Simply remarkable.”

Jack felt himself blushing at the praise and took a moment to reposition his scarf to hide his face. “I left myself vulnerable at the end. I shouldn’t have tried to draw off that last spell,” he said, though his throat was still raw from vomiting.

“If you hadn’t, my son would be dead.”

He nodded, for it was true, but could think of nothing more to say to that. He sat back, breathing deep, letting the aether run through and over him.

Redden spoke into the silence, “To think, Garland was a black mage all along, one of the Brotherhood… The very man in charge of hunting them down… No wonder they’ve grown so powerful these last ten years.”  When Jack opened his eyes again, the bard was looking at him. “You saved our skins back there. Particularly Kane’s. I won’t forget it.” He looked toward the ruined temple, then back to Jack. “Are you alright out here on your own?”

“Yes,” he said, again unable to think of anything else to say.

Minutes passed. He was beginning to wonder if he should go back inside with the others - he would be fine, so long as he didn’t draw on the aether in there again - when Orin and Thad came out. Orin carried Lena, who still slept, and set her down carefully on a grassy patch near Jack’s seat. Thad carried Jack’s hat, which he handed over with a wary glance at his eyes, still lit by the corona, but it didn’t hamper the boy’s cheer. He spoke excitedly about how Kane and Redden were busy securing the cultists with cut up strips of their own robes - six in all, though there were also six dead of their injuries, including Garland - before he and the monk went back inside. 

Alone again, he looked down at the girl. Her white hood, a rough-spun linen suitable for travel, was bloodstained near the hem on one side. Checking her aura, he quickly determined it wasn’t her blood. It was as Redden told him: she’d over-exerted herself but bore no other injuries.  

He sighed, letting the aether go at last, feeling it drift slowly out of him and away, until he was left only with the aether he carried in his own soul, depleted though it was by the fight and lack of sleep. He closed his eyes, taking stock of himself: he probably could have managed one spell, at direst need, but no more. The whole of the world’s aether to draw upon, but a black mage could only use what he was willing to match from within himself. It would rebuild, of course, probably in a matter of hours.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting like that before he opened his eyes at the sound of a clearing throat and was so startled to see a cultist standing before him that he almost fell off his rock, but it was only the princess. Apparently, the filthy robe was better than going about the cool spring morning in nothing but the torn nightdress he recalled she’d been wearing.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said.

“You didn’t,” he said.

She smiled at the obvious lie, kneeling in the grass beside Lena, placing a gentle hand on the white mage’s forehead. Lena didn’t stir. The princess’s brows knit in consternation.

“She’s fine,” Jack told her. “She just needs rest.”

“What’s wrong with her?”    

“One too many spells. It happens often with white mages: always trying to heal one last hurt though they can draw on no other aether but their own.”

“You’ve seen it before? You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

She was looking up at him now, from her place on the ground. Her worried expression faded, replaced by a smile again. Her stare made him self conscious, and his hand went to the scarf, checking its position. At last, she said, “That color suits you.”

He pulled his hand away, momentarily confused, then remembered he still wore the blue scarf she’d sent him with the formal robes. “I never got a chance to thank you for that.”

“Think nothing of it,” she said, yawning. She looked down at the white mage once more, shrugged as if she’d made some momentous decision, and stretched out in the grass beside her. “Though I am disappointed I didn’t get to see you in the robes. I was told you looked striking in them.”

“Perhaps another occasion will arise,” he said, hoping one wouldn’t.

“Perhaps,” she said, closing her eyes.

He looked out across the grassy slopes, south toward the forest, toward Cornelia, wondering what sort of celebrations would be planned for the princess’s safe return. Undoubtedly, the robes would be required for those. “Wait,” he said. “Who told you I looked striking?” but when he looked down at her again, he realized she’d fallen asleep. 

He stood, thinking to leave the two girls to their slumber, perhaps to return inside and help the others with the prisoners, but his own weariness settled over him like a thick blanket, so instead he lowered himself to the ground and leaned against the boulder he’d been sitting on, pulled his knees up, and dozed there.

* * *

By the time Kane followed Sarah outside, Jack was asleep, sitting up with his staff across his knees and his hat over his face. He was going to tell the mage that another man had died, one that Jack had cracked in the head with his staff. Lord Redden had tried, unsuccessfully, to heal him; he had explained that white magic wouldn’t work against someone who had so completely turned against the natural order of life. Kane didn’t know what that meant, but thought Jack should hear it.

When he found the mage asleep, however, he decided not to tell him after all. He wondered if Jack had meant to kill with that blow, wondered if the mage had ever killed anyone before. If not, Kane could spare him the guilt that he himself was feeling now. Years of training with the sword hadn’t prepared him for the unpleasantness of actually killing someone. Two of the bodies laid out in that temple had been his work, General Garland and one other. In the moments immediately after, when he’d held Sarah in his arms, overjoyed that she was safe, he thought it had all been worth it. 

She was sleeping too, beside Lena, and when he saw her there, he knew with a cold certainty that he would do it all again. Gods, but he’d missed her. Though he’d claimed his training kept him too busy to visit, the truth was he’d kept himself away after years of trying - and failing - to think of her as nothing more than a friend. Even now, the desire to lay beside her on the grass and pull her close filled his mind; he forced the thought away, afraid to let himself examine it too closely. 

Thad came out the door behind him, took one look at the sleepers, and flopped into the grass on Lena’s other side, curled up small with his arm as a pillow. Kane considered again the spot on Sarah's other side...

_ No _ , he thought, but he  _ was _ tired. With a groan at the soreness in his muscles, he lowered himself against the rock beside Jack instead. The grass would have been more comfortable, he was sure of it, but if it was good enough for the mage, it was good enough for him. He leaned back, closing his eyes. He could hear Orin and his father nearby, quietly discussing what to do about their captives. Lena stirred, he wasn’t sure how much later, but the princess murmured something to soothe her, and she relaxed into sleep once more. 

_ When we get back, _ he thought,  _ I’ll demand a transfer. No need to stay at the harbor guardhouse with Garland gone. I belong at the castle.  _

He must have slept then, for when he opened his eyes, the sun was at its peak. His father had shaken him, and was now shaking Jack, pointing out movement near the trees to the south. Dozens of red-clad figures were marching toward them from around the forest’s eastern edge. 

“What-” Jack started to ask, but as the figures drew closer, they resolved into a squadron of Cornelian guards, sporting the same standard issue red leather armor Kane wore. Behind them, a pair of oxen pulled a large, flat cart on which rode two men. 

“Reinforcements,” Kane said with a laugh. He stood, waving, calling out a greeting. His shout woke Sarah, and she stood beside him and took his arm just as if the two of them were off for a stroll through the castle. Jack stood at Kane’s other side, though Thad and Lena were both still asleep on the ground behind him. 

When the guards arrived at last, Kane recognized Commander Dawson of the palace guard, along with some of the men who worked in the castle. He didn't know all of their names, but the familiar faces cheered him. 

“Commander,” Kane's father said by way of greeting. 

“Lord Redden,” Dawson said. 

“How on earth did you find us, sir?” Kane asked. 

“The king suggested we track you magically.” The officer motioned toward the wagon trundling up behind him. One of the men riding it was Father Branford. The other was unknown to Kane, an elderly man in black mage robes that were frayed and faded to a dusky gray. 

“Morgan!” Jack called, going to him as Father Branford helped him gingerly down from the cart. 

The old mage smiled, waving heartily, speaking to Jack in a quavering voice that Kane couldn’t make out.

Dawson said, “We couldn't get the cart through the marsh, and the old man couldn't walk this far - we had to go around the long way.”

“Just as well you did,” Redden said. “We’ve a few members of the Brotherhood here, bound and captive. And at least one corpse I know the king will be very interested to see. The cart will make it easier.”

“See to it,” Dawson said to a guard by his side. He and several of his fellows followed Lord Orin inside.

Lord Redden nodded in satisfaction. “It would have been quite a chore to march them all back to the city. I wouldn’t mind a ride myself, though I believe the girls should have first priority.”

“I’d rather walk than share a cart with those men,” Sarah said. 

Kane nodded agreement, patting her hand on his arm, but his father said, “I understand, your highness, but you should ride with Lena, at least until she recovers. She may be able to walk with you, in another hour or so.”

The men nearby looked sideways at Commander Dawson, who grimaced, shaking his head. “I have instructions to escort the princess and Lord Orin back to the palace, and you, if you wish, but the Warriors of Light are not to return.”

Kane looked down at Sarah, but her face mirrored his own confusion. He looked to his father, whose white eyebrows were raised in surprise. “Not to return? On what grounds?” his father asked.

Dawson's eyes were downcast as if embarrassed by what he was about to say. “By order of the mage council.”

Lord Redden wheeled around to face Father Branford, who after leaving the oxcart had gone to check on Lena. “Branford! What is the meaning of this?”

The high priest, kneeling in the grass beside his apprentice, stood again, smoothly for a man of his age, and approached them with his head bowed. “I’m sorry, Redden, but the scryings remain unchanged. The Warriors were to start their journey on the first day of the full moon, and they  _ have _ started it. To return to Cornelia now would put the whole kingdom at risk.” 

“You can’t know that, man!” Redden said. “With no training and no sleep, your Warriors of Light have just delivered you a dozen of the Penumbra Brotherhood. Surely, a day’s rest back in the city won’t make any difference!”

“We only know what the aether tells us,” Branford said, spreading his hands. “Again, I truly am sorry. The king wished to make it clear that you, of course, may choose to return.”

“He damn well knows I won’t!”

“My lord, please,” said the commander. “The king saw to it that we brought the supplies you had prepared. He wouldn’t send you away empty-handed.”

“This is ridiculous!” Lord Redden said, spitting on the ground near the commander’s feet before he stormed away. 

The commander turned away as well, ordering the other guards to unload the cart - their supplies, Kane supposed - while Branford returned to Lena’s side, speaking softly to Thad who was sitting up now, sleepily rubbing his eyes. Kane looked to where Jack still spoke with the man he’d called Morgan. He couldn’t hear their words, but could tell from the pitch of Jack’s voice that he was frustrated - Morgan must have told him the mage council’s decision. 

A gentle tug on his elbow reminded him that Sarah was still beside him, her hand still laced through his arm, and he turned to her once more. Her eyes were brimming, but if he knew her at all, he knew she would be too angry to cry. “Oh, this is a fine thank you,” she said. “The prophesied Warriors of Light save the royal princess from certain death, and this is your reward?”

“This is not how I thought things would go,” he agreed. He wanted to say more. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, but more. “Princess, will you walk with me?”

She nodded. He led her down the slope away from the ruined temple, away from his father and the guardsmen and everyone else, and stood with her in the noonday sun, staring at the trees some distance away, and couldn’t say a word to her, couldn’t make his mind form the phrases to describe what he was feeling in that moment. 

It was she who spoke first. “You have to protect them, the others. They’re not like you, not warriors.”

“I will,” he said.

“Try to be a friend to them, Kane. You’ve always been good at making friends - something tells me those three aren’t.”

He smiled, but he didn’t have it in him to laugh at the accuracy of that statement. Instead, he repeated, “I will.”

She sighed. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”

“You  _ will _ see me again,” he told her. He looked at her when he said it, and saw that her eyes were still full of tears, but the anger was gone. He quickly looked away, not wanting to see her cry when he could do nothing to fix it. 

They stood in silence after that, side by side until a shout from his father drew them back up the hill to the others. The prisoners were loaded on the cart, along with a man-sized, cloth-wrapped bundle - Garland’s corpse. On one side, his father was speaking with Commander Dawson and Father Branford as guards were taking their places, preparing to march; his father was calmer now, but spoke with fists clenched as though he’d like to use them. On the other, Jack and Morgan stood chatting. 

As Kane approached them, Jack was telling the older man, “If they cause trouble, that sleep spell we found yesterday should keep them under control until you reach the castle.” 

“I remember it,” Morgan said. “Though perhaps I’ll practice on a few of them to be sure.” He bowed when Kane and the princess approached. “Your highness. Morgan Geraldine, at your service.” He rose, nodding to Kane. “Jack here tells me he’ll follow your lead. Do you know yet where you will go?”

“My lead?” he asked, but Jack only shrugged. He sighed. “No, I suppose I don’t.”

“If I may offer a suggestion? There’s an old colleague of mine who I believe could be of some assistance to you, a woman named Matoya with a knack for reading the future in the aether. She might be able to foresee your right path.”

“That does sound helpful, but Commander Dawson said we weren’t to return to the city.”

“Oh, she’s not in Cornelia. She left after the ban. A blind woman, used black magic to give herself some semblance of sight. Said she’d rather live in the wild than abstain from it.”

It seemed as good a starting place as any. “Alright,” Kane said. “Where can we find this woman?”

“Take the bridge north out of the kingdom, then keep to Lake Cornelia’s coast. You’ll come to a rocky pass. She makes her home in a cave somewhere in the forest north of there.”

From across the cart, Commander Dawson said, “Your highness, we need to go.”

“Fine,” Sarah said, making no move to join him.

Jack helped Morgan board the cart beside the prisoners. In his black robe, the old man almost looked like a cultist himself, though the others’ robes had seen less wear. 

Another guard said, “And you, Lord Orin, will you walk or ride?”

“Neither,” the old monk said. “I have decided to go with the Warriors of Light.”

“Really?” Thad said joyfully.

The commander turned to him. “My lord, the king expects your return.”

Orin bowed his head, saying, “Please give the king my sincerest apologies.”

“Kane,” Sarah said, clinging more tightly to his arm than she had before.

He reached up and pulled her hand gently away, held it in his own. “Princess,” he said, bowing, pressing his lips to her fingers in a kiss, not the sort of kiss he wanted to give her but one that was perfectly appropriate between a princess and her subject. Perhaps it lasted longer than was proper, but he had trouble letting go. He couldn’t look at her when he rose again, turning to walk away, back into that dank ruin rather than watch her leave. He didn't look back when he heard the company begin their march and the cart rolling out at last, but waited until the sounds had faded completely before he emerged into daylight once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _3/18/16: I have a pair of beta readers. They are both amazing and I am buying them expensive dinners someday when this story is finished. The first one, my best friend, a librarian like myself, who writes a lot of Marvel and Supernatural fan fiction, was the one to suggest I start writing this story. When I tell her there’s going to be a lot of feels in an upcoming chapter (ie: this one), she cackles with glee. But she’s never played FFI, which is why I recruited the second reader._
> 
> _My second reader (let’s call him Rabbit, as his name starts with R) is a man I’ve known since third grade who grew up to be an English professor at a community college. Rabbit’s a bit of a grammar nazi, and I live in perpetual terror that I will incorrectly use their/there/they’re (or something similar), and he will revise his good opinion of me and decide I’m an idiot._
> 
> _I was somewhat embarrassed to send this chapter to Rabbit for editing. We go from hectic battle scene to Kane having all of the emotions (all of them!), and I didn’t know how well that would go over with a male audience. I said, “Just so you know, Rabbit: this chapter isn’t as exciting as the last one.” He replied, “Well yeah, you can't have battles every chapter. What is this, a Final Fantasy game?” He hasn’t given up on me yet, so I must be doing something right._


	13. Movement in Green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Movement in Green from Final Fantasy X. It’s basically a chill, field music version of To Zanarkand, the FFX opening theme. Click[here](https://youtu.be/4-1zWQOzhbw) to hear it over on YouTube. I've also got a bonus song for you in the notes at the end of the chapter. Be sure to check it out!_

Jack shifted the heavy pack, trying to settle it more evenly across his shoulders. 

“Jack, really, I can carry my own things,” Lena said, but she still gripped his arm as though she needed support. It was the most she’d said in hours.

“It’s fine, my lady,” he said. 

They’d set out mid-afternoon at Orin’s suggestion. For all they knew, more members of the Brotherhood might have reason to visit the unholy place and the monk thought it would be wise to be far from the temple grounds come nightfall. They had waited for Lena to wake up, but when she did not - and couldn’t be roused - Kane had taken her up on his back like a child, and Jack had stuffed her meager pack into his own. The guard was clearly angry, whether at the mage council’s decision to send them away or at parting from the princess he obviously cared for, Jack couldn’t say, but he had been silently brooding for the entire journey, delivering only one-word answers to all attempts at conversation until the others had left him alone. 

When Lena woke a little more than an hour later, grumbling and disoriented, and Kane set her down, the first thing she’d done was ask after the princess. Kane said nothing, only turned and walked farther on, but Lena made a hurt face as though he’d slapped her. The guardsman and his father still walked ahead of them with Thad in their wake, exploring as he went. With Lena on his arm, Jack hung back, none too subtle about keeping a wide distance between them and the young guardsman’s lingering anger. He focused on keeping his own mind calm, knowing Lena could read his emotions as well. 

They were making for the bridge at the mouth of Lake Cornelia, walking along the vast lake’s southern shore. Lord Redden had a map of the area among his supplies, but it wasn’t needed yet; their path would follow the lake’s edge for several miles. Lord Orin, who walked on Jack’s other side, explained that the bridge had collapsed during one of the recent quakes, cutting off land travel between Cornelia and the harbor city of Pravoka, but it was supposed to be passable by now. The monk passed the time telling Jack elaborate tales of Cornelian history, including one about a battle that had been fought in these very grasslands.

Jack found the stories fascinating, but Lena didn’t seem to be listening. She looked out across Lake Cornelia, and he knew she was distracted by the water, unreachable here. The lake’s southern coast was rocky, with stones as large as oxcarts jutting out at steep angles from the shore. Jack sighed. If Kane’s mood had been grating on him, he could only imagine how it must feel for Lena. He was going to have to have a word with the hotheaded guardsman about controlling his emotions. 

Lena stopped suddenly and looked about, not at the lake now but at the grassy slopes on their other side, her fingers tightening on his arm. 

“What is it?” he asked her. 

“I feel something.” She cocked her head as though listening, then she gasped. “Run!” she said. She sprinted toward the others. “Quick! Everybody! Climb that tree!” She pointed to a lone tree on the lakefront ahead of them.

He ran after her, Orin at his heels, though the monk had soon overtaken him. By the time he reached the tree, Lena was halfway up the gnarled trunk, struggling weakly for more height. Thad was already at the top. 

“How did you get up there so fast?” Kane asked the boy from the ground below.

“Don’t ask questions! Just climb!” Lena snapped, panting from her own efforts.

“But what are we climbing away from, my lady?” Jack asked. He’d never been good at climbing. He was sure he couldn’t even have made it to the lowest branch.

A wolf howled in the distance. “That!” Lena said.

Kane rolled his eyes, drawing his sword. “Why didn’t you say so before?”

“What are you doing?” Lena said. “Get up here before they reach us!”

Dark shapes loped across the hills toward them. Jack gripped his staff, standing close to Kane. On the guardsman’s other side, Lord Redden had drawn his own sword. Orin gripped a fallen branch like a club. Thad, clinging to the tree high above Jack’s head, looked at his companions in wide-eyed awe. “Are you seriously going to fight a pack of wolves?”

Kane nodded. “They won’t be any worse than the strays we round up in the lower streets. Easier, since we don’t have to worry about leaving them alive.” 

Lena gasped, horrified. “Don’t you dare kill those dumb creatures, Kane Carmine! They’re mad with hunger! It’s not their fault!”

“How do you propose we go about defending ourselves, then?” Kane snarled. 

Before she could respond, three of the wolves were upon them. Jack was able to ward off one of them with his staff. It yipped, backing away. Another leaped at Lord Redden and was stabbed for his trouble. Kane killed the third with a well-aimed slash of his blade, but more came behind it, an entire pack. They surrounded the tree, no sooner driven back than they would run in again, biting and snapping. 

“Kane! Stop!” Lena pleaded from above.

“It’s not that easy, you know!” Kane yelled up at her. “Don’t they train you mages in combat?”

“Only in self-defense! Not in inflicting harm to any living creature on purpose!”

“I’m pretty sure this would count as self-defense!”

“Not when you could all just climb a tree and wait for them to leave.”

“It is no use arguing,” Orin said, swinging his makeshift club viciously for a man of his age. “It is the way of the white mage. You cannot hope to understand.”

“Oh, I understand, alright. I understand that she’s just going to watch while we get eaten.” 

“If you look injured, I can heal you from here!”

Kane swiped at another wolf, slicing into its shoulder, and the animal howled in pain.

Lena, too, cried out.  _ Did she feel that? _ Jack had wondered once before if Lena felt the pain of others the way she felt their emotions. She was certainly reacting to something now.

But Kane seemed unaware of Lena’s distress. “Why do you even carry that weapon if you won’t use it?” he asked.

“What weapon?”

“What? The massive hammer!”

“A hammer is not a weapon. A hammer is a tool with which a white mage may rebuild the world!”

“Are we really arguing about this right now?” Jack asked, using his staff to push at a snapping wolf. It leaped away from him, circling back on his other side, where Kane stood waiting. Lena sobbed when he ran it through.

“Enough of this,” Jack said. He raised his hand in the sign of the staff, drawing on the aether, converting it to flame. The remaining wolves, six of them, yipped as their tails caught fire. They ran howling back into the hills from whence they came.

Kane barked out a laugh. “That was amazing!” he said, as Thad whooped in delight from his perch high in the tree.

“Come down, you two,” Redden said. “We need to move on before they decide to come back for another attempt.”

Thad scrambled down the tree as easily as a squirrel, but Lena seemed to have some trouble. Jack reached up to help her, but she ignored him, jumping the last few feet to the ground. He could see the tears running down her face. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Don’t speak to me,” she said. She turned her back on him and walked away.

* * *

Lena tried to get a grip on herself. She had known she was in trouble earlier in the day, the moment she woke up on Kane’s back. The guardsman was a bundle of irritation too strong to ignore, and she had been too dazed at the time to close him out. It had only grown worse as the day wore on and his mood didn’t improve. Now, she was angry at him, and she could feel that he was angry at her for being angry at him, which made her own anger worse.

Jack, too, was beginning to wear on her. Though she normally found the mage’s feelings unreadable, she could read his manner all too clearly. He followed her at a respectful distance, not speaking to her as she had demanded, and the barest hint of his remorse pricked at her like a swarm of biting flies. Worse yet, she knew it was her own fault. She felt bad for speaking to him so harshly, but didn’t know how to apologize.

Even Thad was becoming a problem. Feeling both content and curious, emotions Lena usually found pleasant by proxy, he walked ahead for the most part, occasionally running back to show her a stone or a leaf or whatever else a young boy found interesting, but his mood contrasted so sharply with that of the warrior and the mage that it was cloying. 

She wanted to swim, the better to clear her head, but the coast was too rocky for her to reach the water. She had hoped it would clear up farther on, but it never did. 

Just before sunset, they reached the bridge that would lead them north out of Cornelia, a thing of stone from the earliest days of the kingdom, broken in the middle but repaired with massive wooden beams. Lord Redden said something, she didn’t hear what, and Kane stopped, looking back at the grasslands behind them, and she felt his heart break. She looked over her shoulder. To the south, the land sloped gradually down to the Aldean Sea and on its coast was the walled city, Kane’s home, far, far behind them: their last view of Cornelia. She wanted to tell him she understood, that she too had once left behind everything she ever knew and loved, but when she reached him, he turned away, his anger like a spike hammered into her head.

They made camp not long after that. Lena sat silently on a stone just beyond the light of the campfire, as far from the others as she could get without losing herself in the rocky pass they’d entered, listening to the noises of the night. Too tense to eat, she waited for the others to go to sleep so that she could have a moment’s relief. Instead, footsteps approached her. She didn’t have to turn to know it would be Jack.

“My lady? May I speak with you?” 

She felt tears pricking at her eyes and wiped them away. “You don’t need to call me that,” she said.

He sat on the stone beside her, close enough that they were nearly touching. “Yes, I do. I owe you a debt.”

“I’ve done nothing,” she said.

When he spoke again, his voice was quiet as always. “You vouched for me,” he said, and when he said it, she felt how sincerely grateful he was for what, to her, had been such a simple act. “I need to apologize to you for my actions earlier.”

She shook her head. He didn’t need to say it - this close, she could feel how contrite he was, even while he kept his other emotions guarded. And besides, she was sorry too, for how she’d behaved, but she knew if she opened her mouth again she would only cry.

“Yes, I do. I know you need some time alone, but please know that I value our friendship. I hope you know you can talk to me if you have anything on your mind.” He stood, and on that note, left.

It was much later when she felt Kane approaching, his foul mood stinging her thoughts like a slapped sunburn. “Lena, I-” he began, but she interrupted him.

“Did your father send you?”

He was silent for a moment. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you’re not sorry, Kane Carmine. Don’t try to apologize to me if you don’t mean it.” 

His anger flared hot, though he gave no outward sign of it. He stood, breathing deeply, for what might have been - and very likely was - a slow, deliberate count of ten, then turned back toward the campfire, leaving her alone at last.

* * *

Kane felt better in the morning, until he opened his eyes, saw his rocky surroundings, and remembered where he was. He looked around the pass where they’d made camp the night before. The air was cool, with a crispness to it that hinted at the possibility of rain, but it was a distant possibility, the clouds too scattered to pull together a storm. Shipman lay nearby, a snoring little ball of blankets with only the top of his head exposed. Lena was nowhere to be seen. He saw his father smoking his pipe on the camp’s far edge, chatting quietly with Orin and Jack, but they stopped speaking when they saw him. 

“Good morning, son,” Lord Redden said. The monk and the mage busied themselves packing up the camp. Neither would look at him. 

“Sure,” said Kane, wondering what secrets they were keeping.

Lena didn’t help clear the camp. She was off among the stones, being sullen, and didn’t join them until all the supplies were stowed and Lord Orin had called her over so they could begin their walk. She didn’t even carry her own supplies, Kane noticed. Jack still had them in his bag, though he couldn’t fathom why the black mage was being so nice to her. 

As they left the pass behind, they entered a wooded area, and his father at last consulted the map he had packed. “Only another mile or so,” he said quietly to Orin. 

“None too soon,” the old man replied. 

“Another mile to what? To Matoya’s cave?” Kane asked, but the two men pretended they hadn’t heard him.  _ Fine,  _ Kane thought.  _ It isn’t as if I have any control of this trip anyway. _

It was less than a mile, in fact, when he saw a glimmer in the pine trees ahead of him, the midday sun shining off the waters of a secluded lagoon. “That’s it,” Redden said. “Jack?”

“Thad,” Jack said, “Would you like a magic lesson?”

Shipman’s eyes grew wide. “Really?”

He began to steer the boy away, back the way they’d come. “I’m not sure if you’ll be able to learn it, but I thought perhaps you’d benefit from some basic instruction.” 

Lena stared after them, frowning in confusion. Kane, equally perplexed, looked at his father as the boy’s excited prattle faded away into the distance. Redden looked toward Orin and nodded.

“Forgive me, my lady,” Orin said, bowing politely to her, but at the bottom of the bow, he struck out at her, one of the open-handed fighting moves his people were famous for, and suddenly Lena was slung over the wiry old man’s shoulder as he carried her toward the lagoon.

“What are you doing?” she screamed. “Orin! Put me down! Orin!”

“What-” Kane started to say, but then his father had grabbed him by the ear and pulled hard.

“Son, we need to talk,” he said, dragging Kane some distance toward a fallen log and forcing him to sit.

“Ow!” he cried, rubbing the side of his head. “That hurt! What’d you do that for?”

In the trees, he heard a sharp shriek, followed by a large splash. Had Orin just thrown Lena into the water?

“What in Bahamut’s name is going on here?” Kane shouted.

His father knelt in front of him, placing both of his hands on Kane’s shoulders, looking him firmly in the eyes. Kane opened his mouth to say something else, but no words came to him. Finally, Lord Redden said, “Son…” He wasn’t angry. His voice - and his eyes - were full of concern. Kane squirmed beneath that brown eyed gaze. 

“I know you're angry, son. We all are. This situation isn't what any of us would have asked for from life, but you have to get a grip on yourself. You can't let your emotions get the better of you.”

“Tell that to her!” Realization dawned slowly. Kane took a deep breath. “I guess that’s what Lord Orin is doing right now.”

“Son,” Lord Redden said again. “She isn’t angry at you.”

“You could have fooled me!”

“Listen, boy, she’s a soul reader.” He removed his hat long enough to run a hand through his white hair, then replaced it again. “You were younger than Thad when we lost Lady Aliana. I don’t know how well you remember her.”

“Of course I remember Aliana! What does she have to do with this?”

“Son, soul readers… they don’t feel emotions the way you or I do. They feel what everyone around them feels.  _ Only  _ what everyone around them feels.”

Kane blinked. “What do you mean by that?” 

“Just what I said. Lena isn’t angry at you. She seems angry because she’s reflecting your own anger back at you.”

He frowned.  _ Surely she’s angry at me for killing the wolves? For killing those men at the temple?  _ “That can’t be right.”

“Think about it, son. When Thad was afraid of the imps, how did she behave? She was holding his hand at the time. When you so bravely - and so recklessly - ran into that temple, she followed you. And now, when you’ve been angry, she has been as well.”

He’d seen her being emotional, hadn’t he? She had been frightened when they waited outside the throne room together on the day they’d met… or had Shipman been frightened? Had Jack? She had been terrified the night Sarah was taken… but wouldn’t Sarah have been terrified as well? He hadn’t known her more than a few days, but he couldn’t think of a single circumstance with her where his father’s words proved entirely false.  

A cold dread started at the base of his spine, crawling slowly upward. “Father,” he said. “Lady Aliana loved us.”

Redden sighed, still kneeling before him, and the sadness in his eyes made him seem so old. “She did, son. She loved you kids as much as you loved her.” 

Only  _ as much as we loved her. _ “It wasn’t real?”

“Was your love for her real?”

Kane couldn’t think. It was like he’d had the ground ripped out from under him. If he hadn’t already been sitting down, he would have fallen.

“Son,” Redden said, bringing him back to the present. “You’ve never been the scholarly sort - you don’t live inside your head like I do. You never have. So please, listen to what I’m telling you. You have to learn to control your emotions. White mages draw their power from the purity of their souls - if she goes around reflecting your resentment and bitterness all the time, she’ll be no good to us.” He reached up with one hand, giving the back of Kane’s neck an affectionate squeeze. “I’m not telling you not to feel things. Gods know, when you’re feeling something, you feel it with your whole being. You’ve always been that way. Just try to think about what you’re feeling for once.”

Lena’s laughter echoed through the trees. Whatever Orin had done seemed to have lightened  _ her  _ mood, at least. 

Lord Redden stood, as if to walk that direction. “Think on it, son.”

“Father?” He waited until his father turned back, looking him in the eye once more. “Does Sarah know all this?”

“No, Kane. She doesn’t.”

He nodded. “I think… I think I’ll take a walk away from the rest of you for awhile, if you don't mind.”

“I think that would be best.” 

It was several minutes after his father left him before Kane felt he was able to stand at all. He walked along the edge of the lagoon, away from his companions, until he could no longer see or hear them through the trees, and then he walked farther. 

He lost track of time, thinking, as his father had advised him. Simply walking alone in the woods and contemplating  _ why _ he was angry made it easier to let the anger go. He still felt it - he didn’t think anything could soothe that away - but he hoped it would no longer overwhelm the soul reader.

Lena. He had to think of her as Lena, not “soul reader”. She had thoughts and opinions and a personality. Were emotions of her own truly necessary for him to continue to think of her as a human being rather than an empty shell? He had trouble believing someone who seemed so unique, so alive, could be missing such a vital piece, like the monstrous mimics the veteran guardsmen described in some of their more colorful stories. But surely his father wouldn’t have lied to him, not when the implications against Lady Aliana were so devastating. 

When he did finally rejoin the others, any doubt he’d had about the truth of his father’s words vanished the instant he saw her. She sat serenely in a patch of grass, hair still damp from her dunking in the lagoon, smiling brightly as Shipman excitedly described his magic lesson with Jack. 

“Hi, Kane!” the boy said when he saw him there, and Lena turned that brilliant smile on him, her earlier anger seemingly forgotten. 

“Could you leave us a moment?” Kane asked.

The boy scampered off, calling for Lord Orin. The others were just through the trees nearby, lounging in the shade. Jack had a book in his lap. His father was smoking his pipe.

Lena stood to greet him, as happy as Shipman had been.  _ It really was my fault she was angry, _ he realized. 

“Lena,” he started to say, but she put her arms around him, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

“I know you’re sorry,” she said, stepping back. “You don’t have to apologize. You feel so lost out here... But you’re going to save the world, Kane Carmine. I know you are.”

They set out again shortly after that. His father gave him the map and made a point of deferring to him when anyone asked which way they should go next. He didn’t know when they had decided he was in charge. 

The sun was well past its peak when they broke through the woodlands at last and were greeted by a salty breeze. They were on a narrow spit of land that fell away to the ocean on both sides. Ahead of them loomed a great hill of stone, yawning open at the bottom: the cave they had been seeking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _3/25/16: This is when the game starts, you know. Your cute little sprite party defeats Garland, rescues the princess, sets out with no idea where they’re going next, and when they cross the newly-repaired bridge out of Cornelia, that’s when the game starts. The title pops up, with an image of the Warriors looking back on Cornelia Castle in the distance, and[you hear the best video game theme there ever was](https://youtu.be/d2gMFdxxHYY), an epic, sweeping song that makes you want to save the world right along with them. I'll never forget that first time: that was the moment I became a Final Fantasy fan._


	14. Matoya's Cave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Matoya’s Cave from Final Fantasy I. Click[here](https://youtu.be/r9_basa73jw) for the original or [here](https://youtu.be/hcsjAH8BBv4) for my favorite OC Remix version over on YouTube._

Kane proceeded cautiously, eyes fixed on the cave’s dim interior. Jack followed close behind him, but the others waited several paces away. There was something in there, alright - Kane could hear a soft swooshing sound ahead of him, like the breathing of some creature, only not quite - but it was too dark within for him to see more than a few feet from the entrance. Though the stones outside were rough, inside seemed more like a house than a cave. The floor was smooth, polished stone, as clean as the floors of Cornelia Castle. The walls, though curved in places, were likewise worn smooth, with here and there an unlit torch set in a bracket at head height. Kane tapped Jack’s shoulder and pointed toward one. The mage gestured, his eyes flashing briefly, and torches flared throughout the cave, revealing a heavy wooden door in the cave’s back wall.

The light also revealed the source of the noise Kane had heard before. There in front of the door a broom worked away, seemingly under its own power, sweeping the floor in broad, hissing strokes. The cave was otherwise empty.

“I wouldn’t have thought to use magic for light housekeeping,” he whispered to Jack.

“Truly, the evils of black magic know no bounds,” the mage responded in a flat voice.

“Is the broom likely to attack us?”

“Only if we track mud inside.”

“I can never tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.” Kane turned back to the others, waving them forward. “It seems safe enough,” he called.

As his shout echoed down into the cave, the wooden door opened revealing an old woman. “What now?” she said, her creaking voice loading as much annoyance as possible into those two words.

She was staggeringly old - Kane wasn’t sure he’d ever  _ seen  _ anyone so old - her face as parched and sunken as a bare skull, her eyes clouded and white. She was shorter than Lena, almost as short as Shipman, and when she stopped in front of Kane,  all he could see of her was the broad hat she wore, similar in shape to Jack’s drab brown one, though hers was a faded red and well past its best days. “Who are you, then?” she asked.

He turned to his companions, crowding in behind him in the cave’s entrance, but his father gestured for him to speak first. He licked his lips, considering his words. After a long pause, Jack elbowed him in the ribs, cocking his head toward the woman as if to say, “Get on with it.”

“Well, ma’am, we’re the… the Light Warriors… of prophecy.” Beside him, Jack sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t Kane’s most eloquent moment, he had to admit.

The old woman laughed, a series of short, sharp wheezes. “You don’t sound too sure of that!”

“Nevertheless,” said Jack.

She seemed to notice Jack for the first time and broke into a wide grin - she was missing several teeth. “Oh, hello, handsome! Now, you, I like.”

Behind them, his father chuckled. Kane exchanged a glance with Jack, who shrugged. With the scarf covering his face and with his long leather coat, the mage could perhaps have been called “mysterious”, but Kane would hardly have thought anyone would find him “handsome” with that ridiculous hat on. To the woman, Jack said, “You mean him, right?”

“They did say she was blind,” Kane whispered.

He had thought she wouldn’t hear that, but the woman put her hands on her hips and fixed him with a sightless glare. “Young man, I may be blind, but there’s seeing things as they are and there’s seeing things as they will be, and you are going to age into a stooped old man with a gimpy leg.” She gestured in Jack’s general direction. “This one though, sixty years from now, he’s still going to be one tall drink of water.”

Lord Redden guffawed at that. Jack shifted in embarrassment, clearing his throat, and said, “We’re looking for the witch Matoya. Morgan sent us.”

“That’s me!” she said. “What brings you all this way?”

“We need advice,” said Jack. 

As his friend began to explain their errand, Kane turned to his father, muttering, “He’s only half a hand taller than I am.”

Lord Redden, still grinning, patted his shoulder. “Women care about that sort of thing, son.”

Behind him, Lena said, “It’s true,” and blushed furiously when they both looked at her. “Well, it is.”

He looked to his father again, who pressed his lips together in an apparent effort to contain a laugh. Lord Redden twitched his head toward Matoya, who raptly listened to everything Jack said with a strange smile on her face.  Obviously, Lena was picking up on the old woman’s preferences. Jack, for his part, seemed to be uncomfortable with the attention, his voice growing quieter and quieter as he went on.  _ I guess it is funny, _ Kane thought.

When Jack concluded his explanation, Matoya nodded. “I can read the aether for you. It’s no trouble. I’ll need to read each of you separately first, to get a feel for you, but the whole reading will only take a few hours. ”

Kane started when Jack elbowed his ribs again - the woman was waiting for a response. “Very well,” he said.

She wheezed another laugh. “We’ll start with you, as you’re obviously in charge. Follow me. The rest of you lot wait outside. This could take a while.”

She hobbled back the way she came. After a firm push from his father, Kane followed. The chamber was dark, lit only by one low fire obscured by the bubbling cauldron that hung over it from a tripod in the room’s center. He could make out several tables, and the witch navigated effortlessly between them in the poor light. Though he stepped carefully, he soon bumped one of them, rattling the objects upon it and causing some creature to snarl. He leaped away, hand flying to his sword, but stumbled over another of those brooms sweeping nearby and fell hard. 

“Alright there, boy?” the old woman asked. She may have been laughing at him.

He lay on the smooth stone floor, his left shin aching where he’d banged it on the table leg on his way down. The broom had already recovered and was sweeping by his feet. “It’s a bit dark in here, ma’am.”

“I do apologize. I don’t often have company.” She muttered something. Throughout the room a series of candles caught alight with a tiny thump. “How’s that?”

He stood, better able to see now, and saw that the creature he’d disturbed was only a potted plant. It growled, snapping a mouth full of thorny teeth, waving stubby tentacle-like vines so wildly that its pot rocked back and forth on the tabletop. “What is this?” he asked.

“Ochu sprout. Nasty buggers, but their aloe can heal almost anything.” She waved her hand and a chair scraped across the floor in a clear space near the fire. “Sit there. I won’t be a minute,” she said.

He backed away from the potted ochu, taking the offered seat, and surveyed the rest of the room. The tables were covered in bottles of various sizes and bundles of dried herbs. A small, lumpy mattress occupied one corner, the bedding on it shoved into an untidy pile. There were more of those brooms, but no sign of any other living thing. 

The witch went to one of the more crowded tables and he watched her pick things up one by one, smelling the herbs, running her fingers over the differently shaped bottles. Sometimes, she would carefully measure out one of the ingredients, hobble over to the cauldron, and add whatever it was to the concoction. When the cauldron’s contents began to steam, she muttered something; her white eyes lit up just as Jack’s did when he was casting but a smoky purple Kane hadn't seen before. 

Only then did she approach Kane. She waved again and another chair scooted over to meet her, stopping behind her just as she began to sit. She reached out, eyes still glowing, and grabbed his face with both hands, roughly.

“Ow!” he said, surprised at the strength in her bony fingers.

“Hmm,” she said. “Yes, I suppose you are handsome enough, in your own way.” She turned his head this way and that, seeming for all the world to be looking not at him but through him. 

_ Idiot _ , he thought.  _ She can’t  _ see  _ anything. _

“But I can,” she said.

“What?” 

“I can’t see with my eyes, but I can still see the aether. And the aether flows, like a river that goes on forever. You might say I’m better at seeing upstream than most. Downstream, though, downstream is easy.” She released his face at last and sat back in the chair across from him. “A true son of Cornelia. You love it, don’t you?”

“I…” He hadn’t known what he expected, but this wasn’t it. “Yes.”

“Thought you’d spend your whole life in the city, hmm? Never wanted to leave it. Planned to put in a few years in the guard corps, wait for the higher-ups to retire, see if you couldn’t snag a position for yourself… You any good with that sword you wear?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. There were few things he could be sure of anymore, but that was one of them. Still, the accuracy of her summation stung. His goals sounded so petty when he heard them in her voice.

She tsked, waving a hand dismissively. “It never would have worked. You’d have toiled away in obscurity. It’s just as well you left when you did, while you still loved your kingdom. Had you stayed, that love would have festered.”

“Never,” he said, again without hesitation.

“Oh, you’re certain of that? You could have continued to live in a kingdom where black magic is unfairly outlawed, now that you’ve befriended that tall fellow outside? A kingdom where your king would keep that pretty little soul reader in the castle like a pet? You think you could know these things and still love that place?”

He opened his mouth to protest again, but couldn’t. She was right.

“You feel like this fate was thrust upon you, that you were driven out of your home with no choice in the matter.” She reached for one of his hands, though how she knew where it was, he couldn’t say. “I will let you in on one of life’s great secrets, son of Cornelia. Just because this thing must be done, and must be done by you, does not mean you don’t have a choice. Tell yourself you’re doing it to save Cornelia, if it helps.” She patted the hand she’d grabbed, then released it. “I have what I needed from you. Send in another.”

He headed back to the door, surprised at how bright it seemed outside. Shipman stood nearby, inspecting the broom that still swept there, and he squealed when Kane grabbed his shoulders and propelled him into the witch’s dim room.

She had seen much, but she hadn’t seen everything, he thought to himself. For example, she hadn’t seen that it wasn’t Cornelia he loved. But her advice had been sound: he didn’t need to save the whole world. Just one girl. 

* * *

“Look at this one!” Lena said.

Jack looked at the clam. It was identical, as far as he could tell, to the last three she’d pointed out, but she seemed happy about it. He walked with her on the beach in front of the witch’s cave, both of them barefoot, her telling him what she knew about the seashells they found as the waves soaked the hems of his pant legs. Across the water, clouds were gathering, and he could see distant lightning, but the breeze here was still light.

It had been a long afternoon. Jack and Redden had discussed black magic for a while, with Jack describing the finer points of ice spells. Ice, more than any other element, depended on a mage’s skill at moving the aether in a specific way, a task made more difficult by the red mage’s inability to see the aether. Lena and Thad had sat with Lord Orin, learning the northern monks’ style of meditation, until Thad had grown bored and wandered off to explore.

When Kane emerged from the cave almost an hour after he had gone in, reluctant to talk about what the witch had said to him, Jack had thought it prudent to lead Lena away, just in case. The guard was quiet now, thoughtful, sitting on the beach with Lord Redden as Orin methodically worked through his traditional fighting stances nearby. Jack wondered what Kane and the witch could have talked about for so long. He was no seer himself, struggled to read the aether as far as an hour into the future, but one thing he did know was that it didn’t take an hour to read it. He was certain the witch had had their measure the moment she met them, which meant she had another reason for speaking to them separately, and Jack found that extremely worrying.

“These ones are my favorite,” Lena said, holding out a small conch shell, no longer than her thumb, a tiny spiral at one end with gray stripes down the sides. “The ones at home get much bigger. As large as a man’s head.” 

He took the offered shell, peered closely at it. He started to hand it back to her, but she was already bent low, inspecting something else in the sand, so he slipped the little conch into his pocket. “You’re not from Cornelia?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Onlac. It’s a fishing village on the north sea.”

He remembered a map he’d seen at the home of a scholar in Melmond on his way to Cornelia. “I’ve heard of Onlac. Interesting Leifenish ruins in that area, yes?”

“That’s right,” she said, smiling up at him. “Most of them are in the water, north of the harbor, but we have a few in the village.”

Before he could ask her about the ruins, Thad shouted to catch their attention. The boy waved to them from the cave mouth. “She asked for you next!” he called to Lena.

Jack walked her to the cave, taking a seat beside Kane after he’d seen her inside. Thad plopped down beside Lord Redden, holding up a fat blue book etched in silver. “See what she gave me?”

“What have you got there?” the bard asked, pulling his pipe from a jacket pocket.

“It’s a magic book! She had a whole trunk full of them in there, from before she went blind. She said I could take this one.”

“May I?” Jack asked, holding out a hand for it. When the boy passed it to him, he flipped through the pages, scanning the book’s contents, a history of black and white magic with sample spells. “Looks like an Adept’s Grimoire,” he said.

“What’s that mean?” said Thad.

“It’s a primer on magical theory,” Jack explained, returning the book to him. “Did she happen to tell you if you’d be able to learn magic at all?”

“No, but she said I had a lot to learn.”

Kane grinned. “That’s an understatement.”

Thad stuck his tongue out at him.

“What  _ did  _ she tell you?” Jack asked.

“Nothing really. She said a boy like me needed a good education, and that all of you would be my teachers, and then she gave me the book.”

“Surely that wasn’t all? You were in there for ages!” Kane said.

“I wasn’t in there half as long as you were!” Thad shot back at him.

Kane scoffed. “I only spoke with her a few minutes. You were gone at least an hour.”

“I was not!”

Lord Redden shook his head, frowning. “Lads, you were both in there an hour.”

“How can that be?” Kane asked.

“I have a theory.” Jack stood, reading the aether, and saw what he was looking for immediately, a current of power running slower than the others, like an eddy in a stream, centered on the witch’s cave. “Excuse me. I need to have a word with our host.”

Leaving the others on the beach, he entered the cave once more. With his aether sight up, he could now see that the aether ran slower still inside. Watching the flow, feeling the way it moved through him, he headed straight for the witch’s door, but stopped before he pressed inside, for the door wasn’t completely shut and he could hear what was being said.

“...don’t know much about black magic,” said Lena.

“Most people don’t,” the witch replied. “They think it’s all human sacrifice and stealing people’s souls. Stuff and nonsense.”

Lena’s voice was quiet. “Dark mages do those things.” He hated to hear the fear in her words.

“They do,” said the witch, and Jack couldn’t fault her for her honesty. “But not all black mages are dark mages. With all the troubles, I suppose people don’t realize how very rare dark mages are. Only one mage in a hundred is born with the talent, only one in a thousand of any particular skill.” Here, the witch chuckled. “But I know of rarer white magics.” There was a sound like a chair scraping the floor, and Matoya laughed. “Oh, sit down, girl. No need to hide it. I know a soul reader when I see one. Come now, I know you can’t lie.”

“It’s no secret,” Lena said, sounding defiant. “What of it, then?”

“I only bring it up so that I might offer you a word of advice: stop looking at souls and start looking at people.”

He couldn’t hear what Lena said, her voice too soft through the heavy door, but he heard the witch loud and clear when she spoke again in reply.

“You can’t tell me you haven’t looked at those boys out there and thought about how to mend their troubles for them, but they’re people, not puzzles. Not everything needs to be fixed. Broken glass makes a lousy window, but it glitters brighter when the light comes in.”

He leaned closer to the door, listening, but Lena didn’t speak again.

“Not everything needs to be fixed,” the witch repeated. “Not everything  _ can  _ be fixed. I know you’re wondering about my eyes, but only one spell in the world is that powerful, and casting it is as likely to destroy you as it is to work. Sweet girl. I do appreciate the thought.”

And then the witch raised her voice and called, “You might as well come in, handsome. We’re done here.”

Jack cringed, cursing under his breath. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop like that. He forced his embarrassment down, stood up straight, pushed the door open all the way.

At least a dozen tables filled the room, with Lena and the witch at their center. The witch smiled, but Lena wouldn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” he said.

“You’re fine,” said Matoya. “The girl was just leaving. Weren’t you, girl?”

She rose quickly, lifting her hood as she did so. She wouldn’t look at him as she hurried toward the door, head down, even when she bumped into him with her shoulder as she passed.  _ Gods, I hope I haven’t offended her _ , he thought, watching her aura trailing out behind her in his aether sight.

Matoya cleared her throat, catching his attention. Jack jumped at the sound, turning to face her. She stared at him, the purple corona clearly indicating that she was looking through time. Blind or not, he knew that in her current state she could see not only his future but his past, and there were things there he would rather not come to light. He writhed under that stare, feeling more exposed than when he had unveiled his scars in the Cornelian throne room.

He glanced about the room, avoiding her aether-assisted gaze. “I love what you’ve done with the place,” he said.

The witch snorted. “I had a bit of time on my hands.”

“Clearly,” he said. “As you’ve obviously bent the aether to give yourself more of it. In apparent violation of the Black Mage’s Oath, I might add.” That was the thing he had come in here to say, before he’d made a fool of himself.

“Somehow, I doubt you’ll be reporting me. Come! Sit! No need to,” she coughed delicately, “linger by the door.”

_ Three kinds of fool _ , he thought, feeling his face heat. She laughed that wheezing laugh of hers as he made his way to the chair Lena had left. “It was wrong of me to listen in on the two of you.”

“Aye, it was. She certainly thought so, worried you’ll think less of her because of what I said.”

“Why would I…” He’d been worried  _ she  _ would think less of  _ him _ . “What exactly did you say to her?”

“Oh, hardly anything at all. White mages are good at feeling guilty, that’s all.” She stared at him, or rather at his aura, for a long, uncomfortable time. Then she said, “The girl thinks very highly of you.”

“She does?”

“She thinks you’ve never lied to her. She can tell when people do, you know, or when they don't say exactly what they mean. You, though. She trusts you. So maybe you can see why I'm confused to find you standing outside my door worrying what I might tell her about you.”

The cauldron behind the witch began to boil over, the fire spitting as the bubbling brew dripped into it. He went to it, found a long wooden spoon on the nearest table, and gave the potion a stir. It smelled unlike any potion he’d ever smelled before. He looked closer at the cauldron’s contents. Where he had expected to see spell components, he saw instead several chunks of potato. “What is this, anyway?”

“Rabbit stew,” she said. “Don’t change the subject.”

With the aether, he adjusted the temperature of the fire, then spooned out a bit of potato, using the aether to cool it slightly, and pulled his scarf down to pop the morsel into his mouth.  _ Not bad _ , he thought. After he replaced the spoon on the table, hastily readjusted the scarf, and sat before the witch again, he said, “I never  _ have  _ lied to her.”

“Omitted something, perhaps?”

“She doesn’t have all the facts.”

“She’s read your soul. What more is there to know?”

“Surprisingly, a couple of very important details seem to have escaped her notice.”

The witch cocked her head, leaning closer. Jack could feel the scrutiny in her stare. “Possibly you credit these details with more importance than they deserve.”

“I doubt that.”

She waved her hands as though shooing a fly. “I assure you, neither she nor your other friends heard a word on you from me. Better you tell them whatever it is yourself. But I did see one thing in the aether that you needed to know.”

“Let’s have it, then.” He could feel the scarf slipping - he hadn’t secured it properly - but he crossed his arms over his chest to stop his hands from fixing it. That would only draw more attention at this point. He sat back in the chair, trying to be casual.

“This fear of fire has gone on long enough. If you don’t work through it, you’ll put your new friends in danger.”

A memory flashed into his mind, of a white mage standing alone against a six-armed monster as the forest burned around them. “Seems shortsighted of you to assume I’m afraid of fire because of a few scars,” he snapped.

“Shortsighted? Is that your little joke? I’m blind. I can’t see your scars.”

He winced at his own rudeness. Possibly the woman’s aether sight was not as omniscient as he had given it credit for. “Madam, I apologize.”

“Hit a sore spot, did I? Hehe. No matter. At least you’re spunky. That’s a good thing - you hang on to that. No, handsome, I assume you’re afraid of fire because you are.”

“It might have escaped your notice, but I’m actually a fire mage.”

“A fire mage, he says. And what can you do as a fire mage? You use it against your enemies, as a weapon, because you know they’ll feel as much fear as you do. You use fire as a tool for destruction. When you can use fire to create, then I will believe you have no fear of it.”

“I used it to save your dinner just now.”

“And for that I thank you. I would offer you some, but I believe you have places to be. That was why you came here, wasn’t it? To learn where you should go?”

He pulled his scarf back up, no longer able to stand feeling so exposed. “Just tell me already, so we can be on our way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _4/1/16: I don’t know if any of you remember how very HARD FF1 was back in the day. You leave Cornelia and have to spend a few hours wandering around nearby, committing imp genocide (impocide?), before you’re strong enough to make it to the next place on the map, a cave in the middle of nowhere. You know what you find when you get there? Nothing. Matoya isn’t part of the plot until the events in Elfheim. But I always stop in to say hello anyway, because, well, it’s on the way to the next location._
> 
> _I always loved the cute little brooms that sweep on their own. You can talk to them and they tell you how to pull up the map screen. It makes the place seem wistful and friendly, in stark contrast to the part where the cave is FULL OF HUMAN SKULLS, a detail I elected to omit here as describing our heroes’ discomfort with the sight was an unnecessary distraction. I imagine Matoya, leaving Cornelia because of the ban, blind and alone and homeless, found an old Leifenish ossuary and decided to move in._
> 
> _Fans of Final Fantasy: Record Keeper may notice the special guest appearance by Sentinel Grimoire. At the time I wrote this, I figured if I couldn’t have one, at least Thad could, but in the weeks since then I was fortunate enough to receive one during a Lucky Draw and it’s the best thing ever._


	15. Four Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Four Hearts from Final Fantasy V, because field music is a thing when your characters are walking around in the wilderness. Click[here](https://youtu.be/PrzMLQWem5E) for the original over on YouTube._

Lena splashed Thadius again, smiling at his sputter of indignation. “You’re it!” she said, swimming away. She stayed in the shallows so he’d have a fair chance, given how poor of a swimmer he was. Redden, watching from the beach, shouted encouragement at the boy, laughing at their game. Farther on, Kane and Orin sparred bare-handed. The guard appeared to be losing, but with good grace, stopping the fight often to question the monk on his technique. 

She heard thunder and looked to the east, where a storm was moving in. She wondered when it would arrive. When she looked west, checking the sun’s position in the sky, she noticed Jack standing by the cave mouth, shoulders hunched and hat pulled low, but then a wall of water hit her in the face. 

“I win!” Thadius shouted, running inelegantly through the water toward the shore. 

“Cheater!” she said, chasing after him, but she laughed as she said it.

When they were all standing together on the beach, it wasn’t so much that she could sense Jack’s glum mood - he hid it well - but that she felt the absence of a better one. The good humor of the others seemed to form a wall of warmth even as the breeze chilled her wet clothes, but that wall had a Jack-shaped hole in it. “We need to be away from this cave before nightfall,” the mage said gruffly. 

“You’re not serious?” Kane chuckled.

The mage cut him low with a glare.

“You are serious.” The guard deflated a little, eyeing the distant clouds. “She isn’t willing to put up with us for a single night?”

“It’s not that,” Jack said. “Your father was right when he told you you’d spent an hour in that cave. I’ve only been in there a few minutes myself - how long have you waited out here for me?”

“Ages,” said Thadius.

Kane cuffed the boy’s shoulder, but not hard. “Long enough. Some magical trick?”

“The woman is bending the aether to manipulate time,” Jack said. “It’s given her unnaturally long life, but if we spend a night here, we could lose a week. According to her, we need to be in Pravoka within three days.”

“Pravoka? What are we meant to do in Pravoka?” Kane asked.

“No idea.”

They were ready to leave soon after. The witch came out of her cave long enough to bid them farewell. “Remember what I told you!” she called. Lena assumed the remark was aimed at her, but when she felt a surge of determination from both Kane and Thadius, she realized the witch must have had words of advice for each of them. She considered focusing her senses on Jack to see what he was feeling, but she heard him muttering under his breath at the old woman and concluded that she wouldn’t like what she found there anyway.

Kane led the way, speaking quietly with Jack. The two older men brought up the rear. Thadius walked in the middle with Lena, trying to read his new book as he went. He’d bumped into her several times, and tripped at least twice, but he wasn’t deterred. “The witch said I had to read it,” he explained. 

Her own words from the witch had been simple:  _ “Stop looking at souls and start looking at people.”  _ It seemed like nonsense; the two were inseparable. But Matoya had a point. Hadn’t she and Sarah talked about mending Jack’s broken soul? Hadn’t she tried to counsel Thadius through his grief without being asked? Even when she met the witch, her first instinct had been to call up her soul sight in an effort to find the cause of the woman’s blindness. 

She only wanted to help. The White Mage’s Oath was very clear on the concept of using one’s power to help others. But then again, white mage philosophy had a considerable amount to say about the idea of loving people just as they were and not as one wished them to be. Guilt pricked at her heart, just as it had when she’d sat before the witch.  _ Trying to change people, even if I meant well… I haven’t been a good friend _ , she thought. 

Thadius held up a page for her to review and asked, “What’s this bit mean?”

She stumbled, not used to walking and reading at the same time, but recovered quickly. “‘ _ Black magic from without remains without, while white may pass from soul to soul, within yet stays within.’ _ Goodness, that’s a mouthful. How old is this book?” 

“The Adept’s Grimoire has been around in one form or another for nearly two centuries,” Lord Redden supplied from behind them. 

“It shows!” She read a bit more of the page for context, then said, “I think that line is just a poetic way to describe the difference between white magic and black magic. Black mages draw on some of the aether around them, or ‘without’, and use it to affect the rest of the aether around them. White mages use their own aether, or their own soul if you like, and usually cast it directly ‘within’ another soul. There are other differences, of course, but that’s the biggest.”

The boy squinted first at the book and then at her. “So you use up a little bit of your soul every time you heal somebody?” 

He sounded so horrified she had to laugh. “It isn’t as terrible as it sounds. The power grows back. And I enjoy using my magic to help others. White magic comes from love, you know. You have to love people to be a good white mage.” 

“Even Father Todd? I don’t think  _ he  _ loves people,” Thadius said. Lena was surprised at the venom in his voice.

It was Redden who responded. “Father Todd is the best there is at relieving pain. He's the one they call when all other healing fails. When you have to watch people die as often as he does… It's hard on a healer. Surely you can understand why he seems angry.”

“I guess,” said the boy, though she could feel that he was sorry for his earlier remark. He turned his attention back to the book, though he was rapidly running out of daylight. Before long, he held up another page for Lena to see. “Here where it talks about the ‘lifestream’, is that supposed to be the aether?”

“I think so,” she said. “It’s probably a bad translation.”

Thadius frowned. “What’s it translated from?”

“Leifenish, of course.”

“What’s that?”

“Never heard of Leifenish?” Lord Redden said, sounding scandalized. 

“Gods, now you’ve done it,” Kane muttered in front of them, and suddenly began walking faster, leaving Jack behind. 

Redden went on, “My boy! The Leifens were an ancient society of scholars and mages! Almost every spell we know today was perfected by them. Have you never heard the tale of the Fall of Leifen?”

Thadius shook his head.

The bard beamed, stepping up beside the boy and launching into an enthusiastic explanation. “Leifen was a great city, greater even than Cornelia! Now, according to the histories…”

Lena was distracted as Jack grabbed her hand and placed it in his arm as seemed to be his habit. The long-legged mage slowed his pace, and when the others pulled ahead a little ways, he said, “I needed to tell you something.” 

“And what if I wanted to hear the story?” she teased. His discomfort pricked at her, faint, like a whisper on the edge of hearing. “I’m only joking!” she said quickly. “I’m sorry. Please, say what’s on your mind.”

He spoke haltingly. “I wanted to apologize. For earlier. At the cave, I mean. It was wrong of me to eavesdrop.”

She felt her face heat.  _ How much did he hear?  _ she wondered. “Don’t apologize. Matoya was right.”

He flinched as though her words startled him. “What? No, I…” he sighed. “I don’t care what she said to you, my lady. What she said to me… She told me… Listen, I was only eavesdropping because I was worried… I mean to say…” He shook his head, sighing again, and lapsed into silence.

She smiled, giving his arm an encouraging pat. “Let’s just catch up with the others.”

He nodded, and she could feel the tiniest hint of relief from his as he resumed a more normal pace.   _ All I’ve thought about is how to fix him, and he was worried about me! I really have been a terrible friend.  _ She would do better. She was sure of it.

* * *

The forest was dark when they reached it, though Thad tried not to let on how uncomfortable that made him. The sun had not quite set, but the trees were full of spring growth, blocking out the fading light.  _ The dark can’t hurt me, _ he thought.  _ Not with the others here. _ They made camp when it grew too dark to go on, somewhere on the northern shore of the lagoon they’d seen that morning. It wasn’t bad once Jack had a fire going. The mage was good at fire - at least, he said he was - and this fire was big and bright and took the spring chill right out of the air. 

Lena said, “Thadius, are you excited to be going back to Pravoka?”

He shook his head. “There’s nothing for me there anymore.”

“Nothing?” Kane asked. “You didn’t leave any friends behind?”

“I didn’t need friends. I had Pappy and Gram.” 

“It must have been hard for you when they passed,” Redden said. 

“I don’t like to talk about it,” Thad told him.

The bard nodded and quickly changed the subject, turning to his son to discuss the route they expected to take, studying the map.

He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said nothing was left in Pravoka for him. After Pappy vanished, his Gram had sold off most of what she owned bit by bit in order to keep the two of them fed. When she died, the captains' council had auctioned off the rest, including the house. Mayor Gordon had assured him he’d be taken care of, that she’d find him work on a ship when he was older and bigger, had even taken him into her home, but Thad had left at the first opportunity rather than watch some new happy family move into his Pappy’s old house. That was more than a year ago, but even after all that time in Cornelia, the thought still stung.

After Orin portioned out food from their supplies, Thad pestered Kane into guiding him through a few sword training exercises. He paid special attention to everything the guard told him. The witch had said he’d need to know how to fight. When at last they finished and joined the others around the fire, he once more brought out the book she had given him. He’d no sooner sat down than thunder rumbled. 

“I suspect this is going to be an uncomfortable night,” Lord Redden said.

“Why? We have a tent, don’t we?” Thad asked.

“We do, but it won’t help much. Never camped in the rain, boy?” the bard said, pulling his pipe and tobacco pouch from his pocket.

“I’ve never camped at all until last night, sir.”

He thought that perhaps Redden would light his pipe magically, and was disappointed when instead he lit a twig in the fire and set it to the pipe’s bowl, puffing it alight. When this was done, the bard said, “The tent will keep the rain off our heads, yes, but the ground will be soaked by morning, and us with it. Mark my words. You can’t stop water from flowing where it will.” 

“What about my book?” he asked. His very own book! He’d hate to ruin it so soon after acquiring it.

Lena smiled. “Most spellbooks are warded against water and fire. I’m sure yours will be fine. It’s a variation of the Protect spell. Quite simple, really.”

Protect… he’d seen that in the book. He flipped to the page that talked about it. “You know that one, right? You used it in the temple.”

“Yes. It’s a very basic spell, one of the first ones I ever learned.”

“But…” He looked at the drawing on the page, a representation of the aether flow at work during the spell’s casting, but to him it merely looked like a bunch of swirling lines. “But if you can make it protect a book from water damage, couldn’t you make it keep the rain off of us too?”

Lena’s eyes grew wide. “That’s brilliant! Why hasn’t anyone thought of that before?”

“They have,” said Redden. “Mages have been trying to make it work for years. It’s difficult to key it to something so specific, especially when a little rain is essentially harmless.”  

“That’s… Excuse me. I need to try something.” She pushed to her feet and walked off into the trees, her hands already glowing with white magic.

“Try not to empty yourself again!” Kane called after her. “I don’t want to carry you all the way to Pravoka.”

“I doubt she’ll get anywhere with it,” said Redden. “Better mages have tried and failed.” 

“Possibly none of them have spent as much time in the water as she has,” said Orin. “Let her be.”

Thad looked down at the Protect illustration again, trying to make sense of the description, but Redden said, “Come, put it away, boy. I’ll show you how to set up the tent.”

“Can I hear more about Leifen when we’re done?” he asked.

“Of course,” said the bard, seeming pleased by the request. “Anything you want to know.”

Thad nodded, wrapping the book in one of his spare shirts and securing it in his pack. He was glad being a Warrior of Light wasn’t all walking through the countryside and sleeping on the ground.  _ Magic lessons, sword fighting, ancient legends from an actual court bard… this might be the best day of my life, _ he thought.  

* * *

Kane felt a drip on his shoulder and rolled onto his side, trying to squeeze as much of himself as possible into the flimsy shelter without touching Lord Orin, who was already asleep. The monk could apparently sleep through anything. The oil-cloth tent, draped over a rope between two of the taller pines and secured by additional ropes at the corners, was not as large as the guardsman would have hoped. While it was ostensibly big enough for the six of them, Kane didn’t think he knew any of his companions, including his father, well enough for the closeness it would have required to keep completely dry.

Jack obviously agreed with him; the mage had claimed the spot on the tent’s opposite edge. Lord Redden lay beside him, with Shipman in the middle. Between Shipman and Lord Orin, an empty space waited for Lena, but the white mage was still in the trees a few feet away, experimenting with her spell. Occasionally, a white flash lit up the forest, but his father assured them these were perfectly normal effects considering what she was attempting to do. 

The rain was light and gentle, pattering against the tent in a steady rhythm. It would have been a pleasant way to drift off to sleep, if not for the constant drips on his left shoulder. That, and Shipman’s prattle. He’d been asking questions about Leifen for more than an hour.

“But how is it a dead language if so many people still use it for their spells and things?” the boy asked. 

Lord Redden sighed. “Because they  _ only  _ use it for their spells. No one speaks it in their homes or businesses. Really, there are quite a few terms that we don’t even know the Leifenish words for. Anything that doesn’t come up in spellwork, for example.”

“But why? Did the Leifens just disappear when the city was destroyed? Did they all die? How do we know what happened if they all died?”

“For Ramuh’s sake, go to sleep, Shipman!” Kane hissed.

“Kane’s right. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. You need your rest,” said his father.

“Lena’s still awake. How come she doesn’t have to go to sleep yet?” 

“Because she’s not keeping the rest of us awake with her chatter!” Kane said. 

“I’m not talking to you!” Shipman snapped. “Besides, I’m not sleepy!”

“I know the Leifenish word for sleep,” said Jack, his voice quiet against the rain. “Would you like to hear it, Thad?”

“Oh, yes! That would be great! I ought to learn Leifenish, you know, if I’m going to learn magic. The witch told me-”

“ _ Gahluhdi, _ ” said Jack, a green flash accompanying the strange word. There was a tiny thump, as of a small boy falling back against his blankets in the dark, and then the gentle sound of Shipman’s snores.

Kane sat up, looking over at the mage just as the green corona left his eyes. “I’m afraid that will wear off well before dawn,” Jack said.

“That was amazing,” Kane whispered.

“If you tell Lena about this, I’m spending the next one on you.” The mage rolled over, turning his back on them.

“Hush now, both of you,” Lord Redden said, chuckling.

Kane smiled, pulling his pack in for a pillow, and moving ever so slightly closer to Orin to escape the rain. “Goodnight, father,” he said, closing his eyes.

* * *

_ His mother stood between him and the creature. Jack could still hear its laughter, sharp and piercing, could still see the way the firelight reflected off the swords it carried, could still smell the smoke. “Fool woman!” it hissed at her, its voice rasping like a thousand coiling snakes. “You cannot defeat me! The time of prophecy has come! You will die first!” _

Don’t _ , he pleaded with himself.  _ Don’t make a sound. Don’t _. But the dream played out exactly as it had in reality: the boy he had been shouted, “No!” _

_ His mother turned at the sound of his voice -  _ I should have stayed at the house,  _ he thought. _ I shouldn’t have followed her _ \- and the creature rushed toward her. She faced it again at the last possible second, her hastily erected Protect taking the brunt of the charge. The spell shuddered as the creature fought against it, pushing his mother to her knees. _

It’s my fault _ , he thought. _

“Jack?”  _ another voice said, somewhere in the night. _

_ The creature laughed that whistling laugh again. “You’re weak, witch! What makes you think you can defeat me?” _

My fault.

* * *

“Jack, wake up!”

He started awake, panting as though he’d sprinted a mile. The scarf smothered him and he clawed at his face, ripping the cloth roughly away as he took great gulping breaths. He saw a woman in a white hood leaning over him, and he let out a strangled cry, too shocked to move. His heart thudded in his chest like a wild thing in a cage.

“Jack,” she said, but it wasn’t his mother’s voice. “Please, you’re dreaming. You’re only dreaming.”

“Lena,” he said, remembering where he was. The tent made a crude sort of roof above him, open to the forest on the sides. Beside him, Lord Redden stirred, but didn’t wake. It was raining still, lightly, the steady drip of it drumming across the tent cloth and rippling the lagoon. The moon hung above the water, turning the gray clouds silver.

“I’m here,” she said softly. She reached out to him, her hand pale in the moonlight, but he pulled hastily away. 

He didn’t trust himself to speak, only shook his head. Grabbing his hat from where he’d left it, he rolled out of the tent and made his way to his feet. She didn’t follow. He walked toward the lagoon, slipping a little on the wet ground, trying to control his breathing, feeling his heart pound.  

It had been a long time since he’d had the dream. Before he’d left the Lake at least. Four months ago? Almost five? He wasn’t sure. He knew it was because of his conversation with the witch that day, stirring memories he usually left alone.  _ The witch said I have to tell them _ , he thought.  _ I have to tell them all of it.  _ But with the dream so vivid in his mind, he could barely breathe.

He sat below an old pine near the lagoon’s edge, watching the rain drip off of his hat brim. He shivered, even with his coat on, and summoned up just enough of his power to keep warm as he focused on not feeling the fear the dream had recalled to him.

He almost felt normal again when she sat beside him, holding out his scarf, not looking at his face. He took the blue cloth, but didn’t put it on. He wanted to breathe free of it a while longer. She sat quietly, looking out across the water. She seemed to shimmer, and he realized he was seeing the rain hit her Protect spell and drizzle away.

“You’ve done it, the rain spell,” he said.

Her eyes flicked toward him slightly, and she smiled as she looked away again. “Not quite. I can’t get the duration right. It’s only good for a few minutes. But I was getting frustrated with it. I was on my way to bed when I felt…” 

_ When she felt my mindless panic _ , he finished for her. 

“Anyway, I’ll try again tomorrow,” she said.

“I’m sorry you felt that,” he told her, looking at the lagoon again rather than watching her try so hard not to look at him. “I try to keep such feelings to myself when I’m awake. I just… I’m sorry.”

“Jack,” she said, and he felt her hand on his shoulder. When he looked back at her, she was watching him, but her green eyes were full of kindness. “Don’t ever be sorry for what you feel.”

He held her gaze, waiting for her eyes to wander down toward his scars, but they never did.  _ She thinks I’ve never lied to her _ , he thought, remembering what Matoya had said.  _ If she asks about the dream, I’ll have to tell her _ . Panic threatened to seize him again: he wasn’t ready.  _ Say something, you idiot. Anything!  _ He twisted the scarf in his gloved hands and spoke the first thought that came to his mind. “Lena… Can you Cure my scars?”

She drew her brows together in confusion. “Has no one ever tried before?”

“They have,” he said. “But there aren’t many white mages where I’m from, and none as powerful as you.”

She jerked her hand away as if he’d burned her. “You can tell how powerful I am?”

_ Strange _ , he thought. Perhaps her own power frightened her. He remembered Father Branford had said she was powerful enough that she might be a danger to herself.  _ And others…  She’s afraid she’ll hurt someone. _ “Any black mage who looked at you can. It’s visible in the aether sight.”

She grew quiet, and he looked at the lagoon again.  _ Idiot _ , he thought, figuring he had said exactly the wrong thing. When she moved, he assumed it was to leave him, to head back to the tent without a word, but instead she knelt in front of him. 

She looked directly at his scars now, extending her hand cautiously toward the left side of his face, resting it lightly on the uneven ridges of his jaw, her thumb grazing the crooked corner of his mouth. Her fingers were cold - the cool spring rain glistened on her white hood and he realized the Protect spell had worn off some time ago - but when she began casting, he could feel a gentle warmth spreading out from her glowing palm. She closed her eyes, concentrating, and then she was finished.

He knew even before she sat back, shaking her head, that it hadn’t worked. “I’m sorry,” she said. “They’re so old, and so deep – it would take more power than I have.”

“It’s alright,” he said, wrapping the scarf he still held back in its proper place. 

“Maybe if I’d been there when it happened, maybe if I wasn’t just an apprentice… I’m sorry.” She sighed, seeming far more upset at the outcome of the spell than he felt. 

“It’s alright,” he repeated. “Thank you for trying.” She shivered in the rain, but stayed with him. “Hold still,” he said, casting the warming spell he’d used on himself earlier.

“Oh!” she gasped when it settled on her. “That’s a nice spell!”

“It’s the least I could do. Shall we rejoin the others? Try to get some sleep?”

“Yes,” she said. “Though, I honestly don’t know if I’ll be able to. Do you ever stay up so late that you’re not tired anymore?”

He chuckled, helping her to her feet. “I know a sleep spell, if you like.”

She brightened at the suggestion. “Really? Does it actually work?”

“Yes, my lady. I was thinking of using it on myself. I know for a fact that it will put you to sleep right away.” He was glad his face was covered so she couldn’t see his grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _4/8/16: I was working on a novel, you know. A serious one, with an original plot that I actually made up in my own imagination and everything. I say “working on” rather than “writing” because no writing was taking place. I would stare at the empty document screen with my hands resting on the keyboard and think about what a horrible human being I am, lacking even the ability to string words together._   
>  _DizzyRedhead, my BFF, said, “You should write fan fiction. It’s low pressure – no one expects it to be literature – and it has a built-in fan base.” I dug out the ten-year-old notes for this Final Fantasy story that I NEVER planned to write and, well, just started writing. Now here we are, 15 weeks in. Just look at all the words!_


	16. Clash on the Big Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Clash on the Big Bridge from Final Fantasy V, which is the best fight song ever. Click[here](https://youtu.be/l0JnXdfoYpY) for the original, [here](https://youtu.be/XJJjD-kZ4ck) for the version from FFXII, [here](https://youtu.be/uNQHjyLcTfU?t=20s) for an awesome guitar cover, or [here, seriously, right here](https://youtu.be/LHbYIbleQP8) for the Black Mages version (the best version of the best FF song of all time) over on YouTube._

“I’m just saying,” Kane said, holding a tree branch out of the way so Jack and Lena could traverse the path more easily. He blinked a stray rain drop out of his eyes, looking to see if his father and Orin were close by, but they were several paces behind having a lively exchange Kane couldn’t hear. Judging by his father’s hand motions, it was likely an old battle story. They expected to reach Pravoka in less than an hour, just in time for sunset, despite the constant drizzle. If the map was accurate, anyway. He turned back to the mages. “It sounds ridiculous. You can’t use it as a weapon? Even in defense of your life?”

Lena shook her head, idly running her hand over the hammer she carried in her belt. “I wouldn’t fight back. The White Mage’s Oath is very specific. ‘Harm no living thing.’ Our power is affected by the purity of our souls, and violence is bad for the soul. Better to die innocent.”

“No, thank you. I’d rather live,” said Kane. Jack chuckled quietly. The black mage hadn’t joined their discussion, but seemed to be enjoying it. Kane, too, was in a better mood than he had been at the beginning of their journey, despite the wet weather. Though he’d had several conversations with the others as they walked the many miles to Pravoka, he’d spent most of his time with the two mages, who were closest to his own age. “At least I know I can count on Jack here in a fight. Right, Jack?”

“Of course,” said the black mage. 

“I imagine you can end a fight pretty quickly with that lightning spell of yours.”

Jack shrugged. “Not exactly.” He wore the gray scarf today, having lent Shipman the blue one. The fool boy hadn’t even packed a cloak for the journey. Jack was no fool, however. Though mostly quiet, the tall mage had a dry wit, and he could become quite animated when he was explaining a magical theory or concept. Not an hour past, he’d tried to explain the workings of lightning to the two of them, had even called a bolt across the sky as a demonstration. As far as Kane was concerned, Jack was easily the smartest person he’d ever met.

He was less sure how he felt about Lena. Her good mood matched his own, which only seemed to confirm what his father had told him about her, but for someone who supposedly had no emotions, she certainly had strong opinions. He knew from his time with Lady Aliana that white mage philosophy was steeped in moral certitudes, but where Aliana’s convictions had been tempered with age, Lena’s were sharply defined. “It’s fine for the two of you,” she said. “You’re both warriors!”

Jack huffed a muted laugh at that.

“Well, more or less,” she amended. “And warriors have their place in white mage philosophy. Sometimes it  _ is _ necessary to take up arms against the evils of this world. I just can’t be a party to it myself.”  

Shipman came running back, blue scarf wrapped warmly around his neck as he tramped through the damp undergrowth toward them, looking at both Jack and Kane through narrowed eyes before turning a charming smile on the white mage. “It’s worn off again,” he told her. 

She bent over him, hands glowing. “Alright. Let’s try it once more.”

They’d spent two days following the coast of the Aldean Sea, making good time even with the rain. The day after they’d camped beside the lagoon had been a clear one, and the ground had dried quickly. The weather had remained clear through the following night and half the day, but there’d been a crispness to the air hinting that it was only a matter of time before it rained again. 

The rain had come with the afternoon, only a thin drizzle that hardly troubled them under the cover of the forest and had nearly stopped by now anyway, but Shipman, unprepared for the weather, had been only too happy to let Lena experiment on him with her rain repelling charm. 

With the modified Protect spell reapplied, the boy ran off again. He’d spent nearly the whole journey running ahead. Despite what he had said that night by the lagoon, Shipman seemed anxious to get to his home city faster. When he was gone, Lena said, “Alright, what did you two do to him?”

“Us?” said Kane, trying not to feel guilty in front of the soul reader, though he knew full well what she meant, and it seemed just the sort of thing the white mage would disapprove of on general principle. The evening before, when it had looked as if Shipman planned to stay up asking questions all night again, Kane had been the one to suggest, quietly in Jack’s ear, that perhaps another demonstration of the sleep spell was in order. It had been obvious this morning that the boy was onto them. Kane suspected Jack had lent him the scarf as a means to shut him up.

“I’m afraid I can’t say,” Jack said, before changing the subject by adding, “Your spell seemed to last longer that time. I think it’s getting better.”

“Good enough for an extremely short rainstorm,” said Lena.

“Or an extremely short journey. You’re too hard on yourself, my lady.”

“It’s already ideal for city life,” Kane put in. “Short trips between buildings and the like. I would have loved such a thing on guard patrol.” A flash of the blue scarf between the trees indicated that the boy was rapidly outpacing them, so he called, “Hey, Shipman! Don’t get too far ahead!”

“I won’t!” the boy called back.

Lena snorted. “I'm not sure I believe that.”

Kane sighed. “I’ll go after him. You two stay in sight of my father and Orin.”

“Afraid we’ll lose them?” Jack asked.

“They have the map, remember? I’m more afraid they’ll lose us.” He sped up, forcing his way through the trees. His hood fell back, as it had many times that day, so he righted it again. The old, brown cloak was too small for him now, but only just. It had been a gift from his mother years ago and he never seemed to get around to finding a replacement. 

“Shipman!” he called again as he neared the boy. “Slow down, would you?”

“Look! Look! It’s the city wall! We’re almost there!”

He was right. Through the thinning forest, Kane saw a corner of stone, rain-slick and shimmering in the evening light. He looked up, and up farther still. “Gods,” he breathed. “It’s huge!” He moved closer, coming clear of the trees at last. The wall loomed over him. 

“Isn’t it great? It’s bigger than Cornelia’s wall by a lot!” 

Kane stood looking up at the impressive stone facade, at the rising cloud over the top of the wall.  _ Smoke?  _ He couldn’t be sure in the twilight. He looked down at Shipman, then past him toward the harbor with the docks on one side and the shipyard on the other.

He started in surprise. There was a ship in the harbor that he had seen once before, the bulging eyes on its ugly figurehead visible even from this distance. 

“Come on!” said Shipman, about to run off again.

Kane grabbed his shoulder, stopping him.  

“Ow!” the boy cried. “What’d you do that for?”

This close to the wall, Kane was sure he smelled smoke. “Wait for the others,” he said.

Shipman grumbled, but obeyed. Kane listened to the sounds carrying over the wall. Were they merely the sounds of a bustling city, or were they the sounds of battle? 

The rain had ceased when his companions came out of the woods together a few minutes later, his father mid-lecture about Pravoka’s economy. “Used to be a world-renowned shipyard, but-”

Kane stopped him with a gesture, pointing toward the harbor. 

Lord Redden muttered a curse. “The Sahagin Prince.”

“The what?” Shipman asked.

“The foulest pirate ship that ever menaced Cornelian shores,” Orin said. 

“They must have been trapped in the Aldean Sea when that quake closed the pass,” Redden said. 

“Maybe they come in peace?” Lena said, sounding hopeful.

The noises within the walls grew louder, shouting and the unmistakeable clash of weapons.

“I doubt that,” said Kane.   

“Kane,” Jack said, looking up at the massive wall. “I think I’ve figured out what it is we’re meant to do in Pravoka.”

Kane punched him in the arm.

“Is there any way inside other than the front gate, boy?” said his father. 

They turned to Shipman, but he was gone. Kane saw a small figure in a blue scarf disappearing around the corner of the city wall. Lord Orin sped after him.

“Quick!” Lord Redden said, breaking into a run.

Kane dropped his pack beside the wall - he could go back for it later. Right now, speed was the important thing. He passed his father, then the monk, but Shipman had a substantial lead. There was no sign of the boy when Kane reached the harbor. He sped through the wide gap in the wall that led into the city, and then there was nowhere to go but forward.

When he’d been younger, educated alongside the princess, his tutors had told him about Pravoka’s Grand Canal. It not only surrounded the city but ran up the middle, dividing it in two, the homes and shops on either side only accessible from a single cross-street after a long walk down the Baldesion Bridge, which extended from the city entrance all the way to the back wall. In the slanted light of the sunset, the bridge seemed to Kane to go on forever. He could see Shipman far ahead of him, turning left at the distant cross-street, running quick as an imp. Kane pushed after him, though his lungs ached by now. 

He saw something that stopped him at the center of the bridge, at the intersection with the cross-street. A small green lawn occupied the space, like a park or a garden, and in it, a guard in a blue uniform lay in a pool of blood. It was only by chance that he saw the man move, reaching toward Kane before he could run by. His father and Orin hadn’t noticed, passing him in their hurry to reach Shipman, but Kane couldn’t run from that, couldn’t leave a fellow guard alone and injured. 

The Pravokan couldn’t have been much older than Kane. He had a thin build, his too-large uniform hanging loose around the heavy gash in his stomach. Kane knelt beside him, looking for something to staunch the bleeding, but he knew the injured man would die without white magic. “Father! Wait!” Kane called, but the two older men were already gone. 

A small hand on his arm pushed him gently but firmly away. Lena had arrived, her hands already glowing with white magic as she moved in beside the man. Jack stood panting behind her, leaning on his staff, looking back toward the city’s entrance. “More coming,” said the black mage, trying to catch his breath. “We saw them on the ship. We need to go.”

“Can we move him?” Kane asked.

“Not yet,” said Lena. 

“Hide…” said the man on the ground. 

Lena still worked her healing spell. “Don’t try to speak,” she said, eyes distant, seeing things in the aether that Kane couldn’t see. 

The man shook his head, trying feebly to push her away, looking right at Kane as he said, “Hide… the white mage…” 

“Have the pirates done something to the white mages here?” Kane asked.

The guard nodded, breathing too hard to speak again.

Lena shook her head. “I will hide after I’ve helped you and not a moment before. Now hold still.”

_ She wouldn’t fight back, _ Kane thought.  _ If the pirates came for the white mages… _ They could all be dead already, he realized. It didn’t bear thinking about. Kane looked across the canal, toward the fighting in the town’s western sector. He could hear it, louder now inside the city walls. A few fires burned, but without enthusiasm, as the stone buildings and the day’s rain didn’t leave them much to work with. _ A dozen guards should have been able to hold this bridge against an army… What happened here? _

“Kane,” said Jack. He pointed back the way they came in, toward the four figures striding determinedly up the bridge. Three were armed with swords but the one in the lead, as tall as Jack but broader than Kane, with tattoos covering his thick, bare arms, wielded a wicked-looking axe.  

“How’s it coming, Lena?” Kane asked. 

“Not yet,” she said absently, still casting. The prone Pravokan guard’s eyes were tightly closed now, as if the healing were causing him more pain that it relieved.

“Well,” said the tattooed man when he reached them, eyeing Lena with a satisfied smirk. “And here we were off to the cathedral to pick up another one. Nice of you to bring her all the way out here for us, fellas. If you two step away from the white mage, there’s no need for you to get hurt.”

“She’s not going anywhere with you,” said Jack, gripping his staff in front of him. The corona lit his eyes, white and sparking as it had when he’d demonstrated lightning for Kane and Lena a few hours before. 

The four pirates muttered at the sight. Kane heard one say, “A real black mage!” before turning and running back toward the harbor.  _ Yes! _ thought Kane, waiting for a lightning bolt to strike. 

Instead, the tattooed man said to the other two, “Kill the black mage first.” 

The pirates rushed forward, quickly closing the distance between them. Kane had just enough time to get between Jack and the tattooed man, blocking the man’s axe with his sword as Jack ran across the green lawn, leading the other two pirates away. Kane didn’t even know if the mage could handle two at once, but the tattooed man, bigger and stronger than Kane, demanded his attention now. 

The big man swung the heavy axe in broad arcs, easily dodged. It didn’t take Kane long to figure out that his opponent relied on his size more than any skill with his weapon. Kane thought he could have defeated the man without much effort simply by letting him wear himself out, if not for the frantic voice in the back of his mind telling him he needed to hurry for Jack’s sake. He stepped back, coming closer to the bridge railing as he ducked the axe once more.

Farther down the bridge, a lightning bolt speared down from the calm sky with a noise like a roaring beast.  _ Just a little longer, Jack… _ Kane was still focused on his axe-wielding opponent when one of the other pirates came rushing back, heading straight toward him. There was no sign of the black mage. He needed to finish this fight quickly if he didn’t want to be outnumbered. He struck at the tattooed man’s hands, hoping to force him to drop the axe, but the pirate twisted his weapon at the last minute. Kane’s blade clanged uselessly off the axe handle, sending a painful shock wave up his wrist. He staggered back with a cry of pain. The other pirate was nearly upon him…

Except the charging pirate ran past him as though he wasn’t there. By the time Kane realized the man was after the distracted white mage, it was too late to stop him. “Lena, move!” he shouted over his shoulder. The tattooed pirate swung his axe again; Kane dodged left, swiping at the man’s face with his elbow, hearing a crunch as he broke the man’s nose. The other man roared, dropping the axe as both hands flew to his bloody face. When he stumbled back against the bridge railing, it was only a small effort for Kane to push him over the side into the canal below. 

Kane turned in time to see the other pirate striking at Lena with one meaty fist, but the blow never landed. It slammed into a Protect spell with such force that the pirate bellowed in agony, clutching at his broken hand.

“Not yet!” Lena said, her usually gentle voice gritty. She hadn’t even flinched.

At just that moment, Jack reappeared, boots pounding as he ran, and tackled the screaming pirate to the ground. His hat and staff were gone, as was the corona around his eyes, which made it easier for Kane to read the anger there. When the mage raised his fist against the fallen pirate, Kane caught his arm. “Sleep spell!” he blurted out. “Jack! Don’t! The man’s already beaten - just use the sleep spell.”

The mage struggled against Kane’s grip for only a moment, but then the spell flared behind his eyes and the man beneath him slumped into unconsciousness. Jack stood, shaking Kane off, and went to lean on the bridge railing in an apparent effort to regain his composure. 

“That spell…” 

Kane turned. It was the Pravokan guard who had spoken. He was pale, shivering as though he’d stood out on a cold night, but his eyes were alert. Lena sat back, the glow fading from her hands. The man’s wound was closed now but still looked painful. “You’re out of danger,” she said. “I’m sorry I can’t heal you fully, but that’s all you can handle for now. Your body needs rest.” 

“That spell,” the guard repeated. “I’ve seen it before. You’re a black mage?”

“I mean you no harm,” Jack said, quickly. He didn’t even turn around, his shoulders slumped as though he was ashamed of the anger he’d displayed.

The Pravokan shook his head. “Not worried about that. The pirates… I think they’re using the same spell.” 

That seemed to revive the mage. “What do you mean?” said Jack, turning to regard the Pravokan warily.

“Just before shift change, we got word that someone had laid siege to the white mage’s cathedral. The day captain led his best men over there, but all of them fell into some sort of enchanted sleep. That was when the pirates attacked.”

“And there weren’t enough guards left to hold the bridge,” Kane finished for him. 

The guard nodded. “Night squad is all that’s left.” 

Kane looked toward Jack, who nodded. “I can fix this.” 

“Alright,” said Kane. “How do we get to the cathedral?”

“Eastern sector. Straight down that street, last building on the left,” said the guard. 

“You’re not well enough to fight,” Lena said to the guard. “Do you have somewhere you can go? Somewhere safe?”

“My sister lives near here.”

“You should go with him, my lady,” said the black mage.

Lena shook her head. “If the other white mages are in danger, my place is with them.”

Kane heard Sarah’s voice in his head:  _ You have to protect them, the others.  _ “She stays with us,” he said. Jack began to argue, but Kane cut him off. “You heard what that pirate said. They’re taking white mages. I can’t protect her if I’m not with her. Besides, if this works, we’ll have the whole of the Pravokan guard’s day squad at our backs. We’ll be the safest people in the city.”

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, something Kane was learning to recognize as a sign of frustration from the mage, and wandered off.

“Jack!” Lena said. “Where are you going?”

“To find my staff,” he called back. “I suspect I’ll need it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _4/15/16: I’ve been replaying FF1 as I write this story and when I arrived in Pravoka and saw that great big bridge running through the middle of town, I literally squeed. The excuse to name a chapter after my (hands-down) all time favorite Final Fantasy song? Yes, please._   
>  _Unfortunately, the bridge complicates matters. What I remembered in my head as “City, overrun by pirates, rescued by Warriors of Light”, a rather simple headline that only needed one chapter to report, became “Walled city with moat and amazing defensive bridge still overrun by pirates; police baffled.” I spent like three weeks trying to figure out how they did it. I hope you like what I came up with (in the next chapter)._   
>  _Regarding the suggested soundtrack: I know FFV gets a lot of negative press, but it’s one of my favorite FF games. The Big Bridge battle was epic. It was iconic. If you ask me to sum up the entire Final Fantasy series in one phrase, I’m going to say, “Clash on the Big Bridge.”_


	17. Pirates Ahoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Pirates Ahoy from Final Fantasy V, which isn’t much of a fight song but is the perfect chapter title. Click[here](https://youtu.be/bG0X8qPTxLo) for that or click [here](https://youtu.be/pAXY1JPTAl4) for Buccaneers from Final Fantasy XI, which is a bit more intense and would probably also have made a good chapter title, but dang it, I’m a sucker for FFV._

Thad pounded on the next door with the flat of his hands. He could hear movement inside, but, just like at the house before, no one answered. “I know you’re in there!” he called. “Come out and help!”

_ Why is nobody doing anything? _ He stopped in the lengthening shadows of an alley on the north side of town, catching his breath. The pirates hadn’t seen him yet. He’d passed at least a dozen already, but from what his grandfather had taught him about ships, he knew that the single-masted sloop in the harbor could have carried more than seventy men. He was glad that the rain had stopped, but he could have done without the chill in the air. The temperature dropped rapidly after the sun went down; typical, given the fickle nature of an Aldean spring. He shivered, trying to stop his teeth from chattering.

So strange, being back in Pravoka. Thad always knew he’d return someday, but he hadn’t expected the city to be under siege when he did. Pappy had told him that the Stone City was the safest place in the world, with its wide moat surrounded by unscalable walls, and Thad had believed him. He’d seen the heavy iron gate rusting away in the canal near the city’s entrance - Pappy said it had been unused for so long that when it snapped off its hinges in a fierce storm years ago, no one saw the need to replace it. 

“Attackers don’t exactly sail clear across the Aldean Sea to get here, Thaddie. Pravoka isn’t wealthy, and we’re not strategically placed enough to be valuable,” he’d said.

But these pirates had done just that. It made no sense. Why would pirates attack a city? Why  _ this _ city? The people of Pravoka had no enemies that Thad knew of. Even now, most of the citizens cowered indoors, avoiding conflict. Only a few hot-blooded folks had come out to face the threat, but most had returned to their homes when it became clear that the pirates weren’t attacking indiscriminately: they were targeting certain houses. 

The fighting seemed to be contained to the western streets, what Pravokans called Dock Side. Dock Side was where all the moneylenders were, at least one jeweler that Thad could recall, and all sorts of other things he imagined a pirate would be interested in. But Dock Side also held the guardhouse, a heap of trouble amounting to nothing of value that the pirates couldn’t have found more easily elsewhere. Thad could think of only one reason for the attack: the pirates were looking for someone. As he hid in the shadows of an alley, watching a group of pirates guard the doors of a large manor house, he suspected he knew who that someone was. 

Before he could examine the thought more closely, a hand clamped over his mouth. His assailant dragged him kicking farther down the alley, deeper into the shadows. Thad tried to cry out, but then a familiar voice said, “Hush, fool boy! Do you want to bring the pirates down on us?”

That was Lord Redden. He seemed to be speaking somewhere nearby, but Thad couldn’t see the bard anywhere. He stopped struggling, and another voice nearer his ear said, “We must work on your situational awareness, young master Shipman. I snuck up on you far too easily.”

The unseen hands released him. He turned, but there was no sign of Lord Orin either. “You really can turn invisible!” he said. “How are you doing that? Can I do it too? Is everyone else invisible?”

“Lord Redden specializes in a number of white spells adapted for combative purposes,” said Orin.

“It’s only the two of us here. We seem to have lost the others somewhere along the way.” The bard sighed, the sound coming from near the mouth of the alley. Thad heard his soft footsteps coming back, stopping in front of him. “Orin and I ought to take turns boxing your ears, boy. What were you thinking, running off on your own like that?”  

Thad shifted from one foot to another as he imagined how Redden must be glaring at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I ran. I guess I thought I could do something.”

“Perhaps you care more about your old home than you thought?” Orin suggested.

“These people were kind to me,” said Thad. “It’s not their fault I couldn’t stay here anymore.” 

“Well, you can’t stay here now, either. Keep low, and keep quiet, and we’ll make our way back toward the bridge,” said Redden.

“No! I can help! Look!” He pointed toward the manor at the end of the alley. “I stayed in this house after my gram died. There’s a window on the east side I’ve snuck out of a hundred times! I can get in that way, I know it!”

There was silence. Thad felt something brush past him - one of the men moving in for a closer look at the manor house - but neither Redden nor Orin said anything for a long moment. Then Redden said, “It’s no good, boy. You’d never make it to the window with all those pirates around.”

“Why not? Can’t you make me invisible like you?”

“It isn’t that simple,” said Redden. “It takes training to learn how to move while Vanished. You won’t know how much you rely on your sense of sight until you can’t see yourself move. You’d be as good as blind.” 

“Perhaps we could arrange some manner of distraction long enough for young master Shipman to reach the window?” said Orin.

“Why in Bahamut’s name would we consider such a thing? There must be twenty pirates in front of this house alone!” Redden said. 

“Exactly,” the monk said. “We’ve seen no other large groups of pirates. They appear to be focused on this spot. Why this one house?”

“You said you stayed here, boy? Who lives in this house?”

“Pravoka’s mayor,” Thad said. He heard Redden mutter a curse, and quickly added, “Please, Redden! She’s a little old lady who wouldn’t hurt anybody!”  _ More or less, _ he thought to himself. “You could follow me! They won’t see you! I’d be just as safe with you in there as I am out here!”

Silence again. Then the bard huffed out an exasperated breath.“Kane never gave me this much trouble at your age.” Thad felt a hand gripping his shoulder, steering him farther into the alley. “Fine,” Lord Redden said at last. “Tell us everything you know about the layout of that house, every detail you remember, but be quick about it.”

* * *

On the east side of town, Kane motioned the mages into an alley and peeked carefully around the corner. The streets here were narrower than Cornelia’s, not even wide enough for an oxcart, but then Kane supposed they didn’t use oxcarts in the Stone City - not enough pasture land nearby, nothing but forest and coastlines. The architecture was different here too, all straight lines and square buildings, not a curve in the whole place, so it was easy enough to see the pirates patrolling the street ahead of them. “That’s the cathedral up there,” he said. “Three guards… No, four, at the door. And that patrol there, but there might be others.”

“How outnumbered are we?” Jack asked, cutting to the point. Lena huddled behind him, shivering in her white cloak either from fear or from the cold.

“Hardly at all, really,” said Kane. “You could throw a few lightning bolts at them from here, couldn’t you?”

Jack looked at Kane below the broad brim of his hat with obvious disdain. “That isn’t how black magic works.” 

Kane shrugged. “Do let me know if you have any other ideas.”

The tall mage motioned Kane out of the way, then edged up to the corner to take a look himself. “Maybe some kind of distraction?” he said. “To pull a few of them away from the door?”

“What, you mean like a lightning bolt or something?” 

Jack gave him that look again, then sighed and said, “I might have a spell that can stun a group that size, but I’ve never tried it before. I have no idea if it’ll work.” 

Someone behind them in the alley shouted, “Oy! What’re you sneaking around for?” Kane’s head whipped around. Four men were heading toward them, weapons drawn. 

“Try it!” Kane hissed. “Try it now!”

Jack stepped in front of him and Lena, facing the approaching men. They stopped, muttering nervously when they saw the black mage standing there. Jack raised his staff, making a sign with his free hand as the corona lit his eyes. There was a flash of light in the air and a shower of gold sparks that left Kane blinking. The pirates stood in wide-eyed silence for a time. One of them looked down at his shirt, patting his torso as if to make sure he was all there.

“That didn’t work,” Jack said, stepping back until he bumped into Lena.

“What else have you got?” said Kane.

Down the alley, the pirates yelled and charged toward them.

“Run!” said Jack.

“What, that’s it?” Kane said, but the mage was already pelting past, pulling Lena behind him. Kane cursed and ran after them.

* * *

Thad hid in the doorway of the building beside the manor house now. He was jittery, but it was excitement rather than fear. Fighting and monsters may have been beyond him, but breaking into a second story window? That was easy. He squinted at the wall across from him, planning his route.

“Wait for the signal,” Orin said. 

“I know.” He could sense Orin behind him, but knew that if he turned his head, the monk would still be invisible. Moments before, Thad had handed the old man his sword and watched it disappear as Orin took it. Though he still didn’t know how to use it well, Thad was surprised to find that he felt vulnerable without the short blade, but the sword might have interfered with his climb. He waited, steadying himself by counting his breaths as the monk had taught him. In and out, one. In and out, two…

At sixteen breaths, the signal came. Fire sprang up farther down the street, one of Lord Redden’s spells. A few pirates yelled and headed toward the blaze, though all were looking that way, poised to face whatever might be coming, oblivious to the invisible red mage who had, Thad hoped, just snuck inside the open front door. 

“Now!” said Orin, but Thad was already moving. 

He kept to the wall, trying to be quick as he turned into the alley on the manor’s east side and hoisted himself onto the ledge of the first window he came to, reaching for the decorative stone frame above it. More pirates shouted behind him, but Thad knew Orin would keep them from looking down the alley. He focused on finding handholds in the rough stone wall, scrambling both up and over. The room beyond the third window was brightly lit, making it easy to see the spot where he could press the right-hand shutter just enough to wiggle the left side open.

The window opened into a steward’s office, all bookcases and chairs and a heavy oaken desk. He hadn’t bothered to look in the window before he slipped inside, so intent was he on getting there before any of the pirates below noticed him, so he was startled to find he wasn’t alone. Off to one side, a woman, gagged and tied to a chair, looked right at him, her eyes growing wide in surprise. Only her wrinkled face gave away her age, for her hair was still the color of cast iron and her back was still straight. It was obvious she recognized him, and was trying desperately to say something to him through the cloth stuffed into her mouth.

“Mayor Gordon!” Thad said, rushing to her side, pulling the gag free.

“Hide!” she said. “Hide, you stupid boy!”      

Behind him, the click of the doorknob turning was as loud as a thunderclap.

* * *

Jack held her hand, squeezing it tightly, and half dragged her along as he turned down another alley. She struggled to keep up with his longer stride. “Jack!” she gasped. She heard pirates shouting behind them, giving chase. “What are you doing?"

"I'm running away!" 

They turned down another street, turned again at an alley, until she was quite lost. Somewhere between one turn and the next, she’d lost sight of the guardsman. "Wait! Where’s Kane?" she asked.

“Running, if he knows what’s good for him.” 

“We can’t just leave him! We have to do something!”

"My lady, I have a confession to make,” he said, looking quickly up the next alley before turning into it. “You know how white mage philosophy forbids harming any living person?" 

She slipped in a rain puddle but kept her feet. Her shoes were all wrong for running. "Technically, it's any living thing but-" 

"Black mage philosophy has that too." 

"It... What?" She stopped short in the middle of the alley, and he jerked her arm painfully before he stopped as well. 

He reached for her hand once more, looking quickly around as though wondering where to go next, but he didn’t run again. "I can't use my powers against a human being." 

“But you can fight! I’ve seen you!”

He pushed her into an empty doorway, pressing into it beside her just as a group of pirates ran down the street where the alley ended. One of them stopped and peered through the gloom toward them, but the darkness concealed them well enough and the man moved on. Jack sighed in relief, then turned to her. “I can’t fight with magic, not directly. It’s in the Black Oath. I can use the aether any number of ways but ‘Never to harm my fellow man.’ I swore to it.”

“But, back there...” she said. Only a stun spell, she realized, nothing that would truly  _ hurt _ anybody. She’d seen him summon ice and fire plenty of times in their short acquaintance, but she had never seen him specifically target a person.  _ Not even when Kane asked him to _ . If what he’d said was true - and she could sense that it was - he’d walked into a potentially hostile situation with no other weapon than a stick. 

She remembered Kane’s smile as he said,  _ At least I know I can count on Jack here in a fight… _

"Kane is going to kill you," she said. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Not if the pirates find us first." He looked cautiously out of the doorway, then looked back at her, blue eyes serious. “Wait here.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“I’m going to check the street and see if it’s safe.”

“Jack!” she protested.

“Hey,” he said, placing his gloved hands on her shoulders, bending slightly to look her in the eyes.  “You’re going to be alright.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about!”

“I’ll be fine. Just wait right here.”

She watched as he crept toward the alley mouth, peering down the street in the direction the pirates had gone, but then there was a shout from the other direction, and the sounds of running feet. Jack glanced back toward her, briefly, and she saw the panic in his eyes before he turned away again. Then he was running, two pirates no more than an arm’s length behind him.

She covered her mouth with her hands to stifle her own startled cry, but they hadn’t seen her. She heard more shouting, saw more pirates running after Jack.  _ He’s leading them away, _ she realized. She pressed back in the shadowy doorway, breathing heavily through her nose as she tried not to cry. 

She bumped something and it fell clattering to the stones at her feet, causing her to squeak in alarm, but it was only Jack’s staff. He hadn’t taken it with him when he’d gone to check the street.  _ But if his Oath forbids fighting with magic, what can he do without a weapon? _ Clutching the staff in both hands, she huddled in the doorway, waiting, hoping the black mage would come back for her. 

* * *

Thad ducked behind the desk - there was nowhere else - but he didn’t fit under it completely. If the pirate took a single step to this side of the room, he’d be caught for sure. He tried to hold perfectly still, tried not to make a sound, even when the snap of the door closing made him jump in fright.

A man’s deep voice spoke. “Well, Leila. It’s pleasant to see you again.”

Thad’s heart beat faster.  _ I knew it. They’ve come for the mayor.  _

Mayor Gordon snarled, “Bikke. I might have known it was you. I’ll have your hide for this.”

Thad moved, slowly and carefully, inch by deliberate inch so that he could peek around the edge of the desk. The man laughed, a low rumble that masked any noise Thad might have made. Thad was able to see the pirate’s back now, a big man with a curved sword through his belt, but Thad could see nothing of his face save for the edges of a snarled black beard. When Bikke spoke again, his was not the voice of a young man, but he didn’t sound as old as the mayor. “Is that any way to treat an old shipmate? I would have thought you of all people would still honor the Code.”

“Pirate’s Code has some pretty definite things to say about attacking cities.”

Bikke laughed again, but there was a bitterness to it this time. “It’s not like it was back when you sailed, Leila. Ever since we lost Safe Port, the ocean’s changed, turned on us. Man who sails on those waters takes his life into his own hands.”

“I run a port city, Bikke. Don’t try to tell me what the seas are like.”

“The seas? The seas?! You think you know trouble in the Aldean Sea?” Bikke slammed his fists into the wall beside the mayor’s head, leaning in close. His voice was cold, angry. “When was the last time you had a ship out of the North Sea? The Stone Coast? I’ll wager your docks have seen nothing outside of Cornelia or Elfheim in more than a year. There are  _ no ships _ on the open ocean anymore, Leila! None! Nothing to steal, nothing to trade, nothing out there for pirates like us.”

“I’m not like you.”

“No, I suppose you aren’t…” Bikke turned his back on the mayor suddenly. Thad froze, but the pirate never looked his way, instead walking toward the window. 

_ That was close!  _ Thad thought. He could faintly hear fighting in the hall outside; Bikke didn’t seem to have noticed.  _ Orin and Redden, _ Thad realized. He’d told them to meet him in this room. If they’d both made it inside, both invisible…  _ What would Bikke do to the mayor if the door burst open right now?  _ He had to act fast.

He reached for his sword, and found nothing, remembering only then that Orin was carrying it for him. He looked about the tiny office for a weapon. The mayor saw him there and jerked her head toward the desk as if to indicate he should move back again. He shook his head. She glared at him, but returned her attention to her captor. “What are you doing here, Bikke?”

Thad was on the wrong side of the desk to see the man near the window, but his voice carried clearly across the small room. “Lot of stories going around about your old friend Shipman. Folks say he was lucky, say he had a way of making the winds blow fair.”

Unbidden, Thad’s hand seized the front of his shirt, and the green gem on its long chain underneath. The mayor’s eyes twitched but she didn’t look Thad’s way. “Josiah’s dead. The Syldra went down with all hands two years gone.”

“So I hear. During that hurricane off the Stone Coast, wasn’t it? The one that took out Safe Port and half the world’s pirate ships. Biggest storm there ever was. The way I heard it, though, that storm veered south, straight for Pravoka. But, Leila, I can’t help but notice that your whole stinking city is still here.”

The noises in the hallway were getting  louder now. Thad could tell from the mayor’s face that she’d heard them too, but her voice was calm as she said, “Hard to blow over a stone, Bikke.”

“Or maybe the winds here only blow fair.” The big bearded pirate walked back to the mayor again, his face only inches from hers. “Syldra’s Tear. Tell me where it is.” 

Thad renewed his search for a weapon. Something, anything! But there were only books! 

Outside in the hallway, someone cried out. There was the sound of a body slamming into the closed door. Bikke drew his sword. 

“It sounds like you’re out of time, Leila.”

Thad reached for the nearest shelf, for the biggest book he could find, gripped it in both hands, and swung with all his might at the back of the pirate’s head.

* * *

Jack leaned against a wall, panting, thoroughly lost. He’d tried to double back for Lena, but by the time he’d lost the pirates chasing him, he was completely turned around. Even an attempt to read the aether had failed - there were too many auras in the narrow city streets. He remembered Kane saying, “I can’t protect her if I’m not with her,” and the words stung. He could count on his bad hand the number of people in this world who trusted him completely and he’d left the most helpless one alone in a city swarming with bloodthirsty pirates. 

_ Stupid! _ he thought, closing his eyes and tapping the back of his head against the wall.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid.  _ He stood there for a full minute, trying to catch his breath, before he opened his eyes again, and the first thing he saw was a steepled bell tower rising up behind the building across from him.  _ The cathedral!  _ He’d run right to it!

_ About time something went my way for once. _ All he had to do was go over there and face down what could very well be an Oath-breaking, black mage pirate. With his bare hands. He could handle that, couldn’t he? As long as he didn’t try to do any fire magic, he didn’t really need the staff… right? Nothing to it. 

_ I should never have left the Lake, _ he thought. He looked up and down the street before he moved, skirting the edge of the building slowly. 

He heard fighting, only a few people from the sounds of it. Peering around the corner, he looked toward the white mages’ sanctuary. Aside from the belfry, it was identical to the other buildings in this town: squat, square, unadorned. Only the entrance was different, a set of wide double doors meant to welcome in the masses. In front of those doors, an unskilled pirate wielding only a knife fought against a swordsman in red leather armor.

_ Kane! _ Thank the gods, he wouldn’t have to do this alone. His luck truly was turning around! He hurried toward his friend. 

With his sword in one hand, the guardsman parried the pirate’s knife as though he were swatting a fly away, then struck out with his free hand to punch the pirate in the jaw. The pirate flew a considerable distance before he came down hard on the street, motionless. Kane was kicking in the cathedral door before his opponent had even hit the ground.  

“Kane, wait!” Jack called, but he was still halfway up the block and the guardsman didn’t seem to have heard over the sounds of the door’s destruction. He sprinted the last several yards, reaching for the aether as he went, pushing through the doorway behind Kane. He had only a moment to take it all in: the chapel, the sleeping bodies strewn about the floor like fallen leaves, the lone man standing near the altar already shifting the aether against him and Kane. With his hands, Jack pushed Kane to the left, hard, while with the full weight of his mind he grabbed the shifting aether and forced it to the right, disrupting the spell as he went. 

Another blast of aether surged toward him, another sleep spell, but he dismantled it just as easily as the first, drawing the aether in until he couldn’t hold anymore. He stood, facing the other mage, ready and waiting for the next attack.

But instead the man at the altar screamed. It was a pathetic scream, like a child’s, high-pitched and whining. Jack couldn’t sense any power from him at all, as if he had run out. “Don’t kill me!” the man said, waving his hands in front of him as if to ward off an angry bee. “Don’t kill me!”

Jack ignored him for the moment, rounding on Kane. “Are you completely mad?”

“Me? What’d I do?” said the guard, struggling up from the floor where he’d been pushed.

“I just watched you run headlong into a magical trap! Even though you had forewarning that it was a magical trap!”

Kane stood, gesturing with his hands as he spoke, just as Lord Redden often did. “Well, excuse me if I had to make do without the aid of a black mage! Mine seems to have run off somewhere!”

The little man at the back of the room shrieked again at the mention of black mages. He cowered when both Jack and Kane looked his way, as though trying to make himself smaller. “I’m sorry! Don’t kill me!”

It was not the sort of behavior Jack expected from a black mage. Or a grown man, for that matter. “Do you know what we do to Oathbreakers where I come from?” he asked.

The color drained from the man’s face, making him look wan and pale against the backdrop of his bright purple tunic. “I haven’t broken any oaths! Please!”

“What are you talking about, Jack? What oath?” Kane asked.

Jack sighed. Now was as good a time as any. “The Black Mage’s Oath forbids the use of one’s power to directly harm a human being.”

“What?” Kane snapped. “You’re telling me this  _ now _ ?”

“There didn’t seem to be a good time before,” Jack said, embarrassed by the whine in his voice.

“How about before I went tearing off after a rogue mage all by myself?” Kane asked, using his sword to point to the snivelling caster. 

The man’s eyes widened at the naked blade. “I’m not a mage! I swear, I’m not a mage! This is the only spell I know! Please don’t kill me!” His lip quivered. “It’s the only spell I know!”

Kane had him backed against the wall. He leaned in close to the man’s face, holding his sword between them in a way that almost looked casual. If Jack hadn’t known better, he would have taken the guardsman for a stone-cold killer. “You and I are going to have a long talk later, and you’re not going to like it.”  

The man nodded, but made no move to get away.

“What now?” Kane asked, looking about the room at the sleeping figures that covered the floor. 

Jack looked at the sleepers too. Through his aether sight, he could see the lingering effects of the sleep spell laid over them like a web of spun glass. It wouldn’t take much to shatter that web: they needed noise, and lots of it. He pointed toward a thick rope hanging down against the back wall. “Ring the bell.”

* * *

“Faster!” said the mayor, as the sounds of fighting outside the door grew more pitched. “I thought you were supposed to be good with knots!”

“Yeah, well, so was he,” Thad waved a hand toward Bikke, who lay on the floor next to the leatherbound copy of  _ The Laws and Ordinances of Pravoka, _ then went back to his task of untying the mayor. “Besides, they wouldn’t be so tight if you hadn’t tugged on them so much.”

“That’s quite enough of your sass, boy. Don’t think I won’t hang you out the window by your ankles for what you pulled.”

“I just saved your life!”

“Aye, and you nearly killed me of fright first! We thought you were dead.”

“Dead? Why?”

“Sailed off with old Bellweather, didn’t you? And he’s at the bottom of the Mondmer. Sank in plain sight of Melmond harbor during a storm. Waves so high, no one dared attempt a rescue. Lord Leiden himself sent a letter of apology.” 

He didn’t know what to say, so he focused instead on the ropes. He’d just got them loose enough for the mayor to pull her hands free when the noise outside in the hallway leveled out and suddenly stopped. There was a gentle knock on the door, and Orin’s voice called, “Master Shipman?” 

“I’m here,” he called back.

The door opened, revealing the monk, fully visible now and looking as calm and unruffled as if he’d come from tea with the queen. He entered the room, stepping over the legs of a man who lay defeated in the hall, and bowed gracefully. “Orin Tantal of the Northern Desert, third council lord of Cornelia. I assume I have the honor of addressing the mayor of this fine city?”

The mayor rubbed her wrists where the ropes had been. “Formal fellow, ain’t you?” 

The monk nodded, smiling down at the fallen Bikke. “When I saw the pirates posted outside this door, the very door you had directed me to, young Shipman, I assumed there would be trouble. I am pleased to see that you handled it.” He passed Thad his sword. “Lord Redden awaits us downstairs.”

“What happens now?” Thad asked.

He had spoken to Orin, but it was the mayor who answered, “Now, we go rally the townsfolk and root these blasted pirates out of my town.”

“It’s no good!” Thad told her. “No one will fight!”

The mayor bent to pick up Bikke’s sword from the floor where he had dropped it. “They’ll fight for me,” she said.

* * *

Kane stood near the altar, answering as best he could the questions of the Pravokan officer who stood with him. “I don’t know what they’re doing over there, but they seem to be gathered on the west side of town. I’ve seen no more than a dozen on this side. We heard one of them say they were taking the white mages?”

Most of the guards were awake by now, as the last peals of the bell died away. Only a few had been unaffected by the noise, but Jack was helping some of the white mages rouse them. The captain of the day squad, a curt, lean man in his late thirties, turned to an elderly white mage nearby. “Father?”

The white mage held up a hand as he finished a murmured conversation with two other white-robed men, then addressed the captain,  “Yes, at least two of the apprentices are unaccounted for.”

“We can’t worry about them now,” the captain said, frowning. “If we can cut off the pirates’ escape, we may be able to spare the men for a rescue later. You, there,” he said to a pair of guards shaking one of their fellows awake in a corner. “Finish waking the others and then meet us at the bridge.”

“What do we do with him, sir?” another guard said, pointing. 

The frightened pirate who was apparently responsible for this mess huddled behind the altar, trembling and miserable. He whimpered as the captain glared at him.

“Perhaps you’d like to make use of the strong room in our basement?” the old white mage said.

The captain nodded to the guard who’d asked. “See to it. The rest of you, move out.”

Kane almost followed them, so accustomed was he to following orders, but when he saw the cluster of white mages gently waking the last of the guards, a thought struck him. “Jack,” he said. “Where’s Lena?”

* * *

They’d told Thad to wait at the manor, and he hadn’t argued. Lord Redden’s hastily concocted plan was clever and bold, and as intrigued as Thad was by the idea of being a hero in an actual battle, he’d prefer a battle with fewer opponents. Besides, the wide front window of the manor’s second-floor library gave him the best possible view of the fight.

The pirates outside hadn’t realized their companions in the manor had been defeated. Guarding against attack from the street, they were taken completely by surprise when the huge front door burst open behind them. Thad imagined what was going through their heads when they saw only the mayor striding out, armed with Bikke’s cutlass, flanked by a handful of servants and kitchen staff who had been imprisoned in the house.  _ She’s only an old woman, _ they’d be thinking. A few of them laughed; Thad couldn’t hear it, but he could see through the glass. 

But then one of them approached her, swinging his sword, only to hit the ground hard before he was even within striking distance. The laughter stopped. Two other men charged in but had no better luck than the first, slamming to the cobbles as their feet were swept out from under them as though the mayor and her people were defended by ghosts. Thad could hear the confused shouting now as other pirates rushed in to attack. 

One of the kitchen staff, an old woman with a heavy skillet, struck a ringing blow against a pirate who fell in a heap at her feet. A man in an apron swung a broom nearly as effectively as Thad had seen Jack swing his staff. But the mayor fought in front of them with all the skill of long years of experience.

“Pravoka!” she shouted, and hers was a shout that had once been heard over the roar of the wind and the sea, a shout that gave orders and expected them to be obeyed. “Fight! Fight, you gutter rats! Get out here and fight!”

Farther down the street, a door opened. And then another.

* * *

“Leviathan, give me strength,” Lena prayed. Gripping the staff until her knuckles turned white, she forced herself to keep walking. She was terrified, but her friends were out there. Kane was alone, Jack was unarmed, she had no idea what had become of the others. But she’d heard the cathedral bell ringing, and that had to be a good sign. If only she wasn’t so dreadfully lost!

She’d been following the noise, but the stone buildings distorted the sound of the bell and made it impossible to know which direction the echoes were coming from. Then, the bell had stopped. 

At last, she turned a corner and came to the canal. She could see the bridge across from her.  _ If I follow the canal, I’ll come to the cross street, _ she thought, feeling hopeful at last. She knew the way to the cathedral from there.

“Where do you think you’re going?” said a voice close behind her.

She whirled. 

The man who had spoken smiled, but she felt no mirth from him.  _ Desperation _ , her senses told her.  _ Desperate, determined. _ His clothes, though fine of cut, were filthy, as was his black beard. He stood too close to her, brandishing a short, pointed knife.  _ Angry _ . “Well, turtledove,” he said, his disarming smile contrasting sharply with the emotions he gave off. “Why don’t you come along with me?” He reached toward her with his free hand. 

Lena’s own hands rose instinctively, bringing Jack’s staff up and around in a wide arch.

* * *

Kane looked at the dark, empty doorway then glared at the black mage.

“I’m sure this is where I left her!” Jack said.

“Fat lot of good that does us now!” said Kane, unable to keep the growl from his voice.

Jack moaned, rubbing his temples with both hands. “Look, I said I was sorry, alright? Would you rather I have led them straight to her?”

Kane clenched his fist until his knuckles ached.  _ Count to ten… count to ten… _ he told himself.  _ If Sarah ever finds out about this… _ He’d just have to hope she never did. She adored that white mage. “I would rather you hadn’t left her in the first place! What kind of hare-brained, lackwit, craven-gutted man leaves a white mage alone in-”

Jack grabbed his arm, cutting him off. The mage’s head tilted toward the street. “Listen.”

There was a sound like a whistle, high-pitched and keening, that went on and on. It seemed to be coming from a few streets away. Kane had never heard anything like it. He shook his head, “I don’t-” he started to say. The whistling stopped, but then immediately resumed.  _ Not whistling, _ he realized.  _ Screaming. Stopping for breath and then screaming again. _

Jack must have known right away - the black mage was already running - but Kane was faster. 

She was in the street by the canal, kneeling over a man on the cobblestones. People in the adjacent buildings peeked through windows and out of doorways at the screaming white mage, but none came out to help her. “Lena!” he said, skidding to a stop in front of her, dropping his sword to run his hands over her face, her shoulders. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

She collapsed against him, sobbing, trying to speak. It was several minutes before Kane realized she was saying “I’ve killed him! I’ve killed him!” over and over again.

_ Oh, gods… _ He looked toward the man in the street, noticed his bloodied scalp for the first time, a knot the size of a pigeon egg showing through his greasy hair. He couldn’t tell if the man was breathing. “Jack! Check him!” Kane said. 

Jack rushed to the fallen man, leaning close over him. “He’s alive. He’s just unconscious.” 

“You didn’t kill him,” said Kane, patting Lena’s hair as she clung to him, crying hysterically. “Shh. You didn’t kill him. Don’t cry.” He heard shouting across the canal, and then he could see fighting on the bridge, the blue uniforms of the Pravokan guards holding the exit, preventing the pirates from fleeing as they were driven forward by a mob of angry citizens from the western sector.  _ At least we did one thing right. _

“We’ll get the other white mages to look at him,” he said. “And Jack’s going to wait right here to make sure nothing happens to him while we’re gone. Aren’t you, Jack?” 

The mage didn’t answer. He seemed preoccupied with something he’d found in the street, a bit of broken branch out of place in this treeless city of stone. He held one piece in each hand, looking back and forth between them as though looking for answers. “Jack?” Kane said, sharply.

The mage flinched at his tone. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll wait here.”

He half expected Lena to protest when he picked her up like a sack of flour, but she didn’t, only continued to cry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _4/22/16: Let’s all give a big hand to our special guest star: the “LOCK” spell, which for sure was bugged and never worked in the original NES game._   
>  _As I said last week, Pravoka’s layout complicated what I had originally planned as a rather simple pirate fight. Google a picture of it: the town is literally cut in two by a great big bridge, with a lovely wall and a moat. No small pirate crew is taking over the whole town (and they DO take over the whole town: when you get there in the game, every single citizen tells you so. Like, seriously, lazy? Defend your own town, citizen!). But when I started researching pirate ships (TFW you have to take a break from writing fanfiction to research naval history…) I learned that those ships could hold an entire army of pirates. So, yay?_   
>  _Obviously, my four inexperienced Warriors and their two grizzled chaperones aren’t taking out an army of pirates on their own, no matter what the prophecies say. I decided a few of those lazy citizens could help out._


	18. From That Day On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: From That Day On from Final Fantasy VI (which is sometimes translated as The Day After). Click[here](https://youtu.be/00XyAGzLqtI) for the original, [here](https://youtu.be/SaRxMHafBhI) for an orchestrated version, or [here](https://youtu.be/gi6ECxVpb24) for an OC Remix version from their excellent FFVI album Balance and Ruin._

Maria didn’t anticipate any business the morning after the attack, but she unlocked the green door to her shop anyway. She weighed and measured ingredients for a healing potion, infusing them with aether as she went, then set the mixture in a tiny tripod over a short candle to boil.  

When the bell above the shop door jingled, she could tell from the change in the aether that a black mage had come in. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” she said, without looking up from the bubbling crucible on her worktable. If the customer were a mage of any skill, he’d understand. If not, well, she wouldn’t regret losing his business. 

The stranger remained silent, though he did move closer. She could feel his eyes on her work. When the liquid inside the metal cylinder turned from runny green into a thick, syrupy gel, she reached for her tongs, dousing the fire with her will. She was surprised when the stranger’s gloved hands grabbed the funnel and the number four vial she’d set aside and held them in place for her.

“Many thanks,” she said, pouring the fresh brew carefully. She didn’t remove the crucible until the last slow drop had oozed into the small bottle. When she did, the stranger stoppered the vial with the cork she’d made ready and, without being instructed, placed it in the small wooden rack to cool. “You know your potions,” she said, looking at her visitor for the first time.

He was a tall man, dressed in a black mage’s hat and a leather coat cut in the style of a battle mage - a style she hadn’t seen since the troubles in Cornelia - but he was no battle mage, if she was any judge. He carried no sword, for a start, and he was too young. From what her aether sight told her, he was younger than her grandson. Older than her granddaughter, perhaps, but not by much. Twenty or so. It was hard to be sure of the young man’s age, though, for he kept his face covered by a yellow scarf. Only his eyes showed, blue and expressionless.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his voice soft. It was unusual to see another black mage in Pravoka, at least one who dressed the part. She never dressed so herself; with her limited abilities in white magic - enough to brew up a good healing potion - and her shop being so near the cathedral, most folks assumed she was a weak white mage. She never corrected them, nor did the white mages, determined as they were not to cause harm even indirectly. It could be dangerous to be a black mage these days; even the rumor of it could kill her. 

But there was no need to pretend with this man. He could surely see her for what she was. She didn’t recall seeing him in the shop before, but then she often did business with travelers just passing through. Not as often in recent years. “Would you be needing any potion supplies yourself, then?” she asked.

The stranger shook his head. “The innkeeper told me that you deal in mage tools as well as spell components. I’ve a focus in need of repair.”

Young as he was, Maria thought him far too old to be relying on a focus for his casting, but it wasn’t her place to tell a fellow mage how to practice his craft. Instead, she said, “Oh, aye, I’ve seen my share. Let’s see it, then.”

The stranger shrugged a strap from his shoulder, removing a long, cloth-wrapped bundle from his back. This he placed in a clear section of the countertop and carefully unwrapped. “By all the gods,” she said when she saw the mangled weapon. It was a staff, or had been before it was broken, but even the pieces were impressive: she could sense the traces of the focus spells that had been bound into the wood, layered one on top of another like braided ropes. The two unequal halves were almost perfectly straight, and together would have been nearly as tall as the mage in front of her. A subtle carving ran down the length of the shaft, a flame incantation in Leifenish. “Cedarwood,” she said. “You’re a fire mage, then?”

The stranger nodded. 

That explained the need for a focus. Fire magic was nothing to fool around with. It took years of practice to learn the control necessary to light even a small fire without it getting out of hand, a nearly impossible feat under pressure. One slip of concentration could have catastrophic results for the caster. But no fire mage had caused the damage she saw here. “What exactly happened?”

“One of my companions broke it over a pirate’s head in the fighting last night.”

She looked closer at the two damaged ends of the weapon, but she knew it was a lost cause. “Like to say it was otherwise, but there’s nothing left to repair. Whatever spells you had imbued in here, they’re gone. I’m sorry. It was a fine artifact, I can tell even now.”

The stranger seemed surprised, his eyebrows rising nearly to his hat. “Gone? But that’s not possible! A mere physical impact shouldn’t have had any effect on an arcane artifact of this quality. It was made by a Crescent sage!” 

Even as he argued, his voice remained quiet and controlled.  _ He’s a fire mage, alright _ , she thought. “I can see that, young man. None but them could have crafted something so fine. But it was no mere physical blow as did this to it.” She held the broken end of the shorter stub out to him. “Look here. See how it’s gone all to splinters on this side? It can’t have done that just from hitting things. It was shattered from inside out. That’s black magic. I’d say your friend drew the imbued spells out by mistake.”

The stranger took the piece she offered and stared at it in silence. 

She went on, “Wouldn’t take as much power as you imagine, just someone who didn’t know how to use it. I see it often with first artifacts.” 

The stranger shook his head, eyes wide in apparent disbelief as he stared at the one-time focus object.

“It’s not as bad as all that. If you’ve taken the Oath, you can take on an apprentice, and your friend must be powerful to break an artifact of this caliber. He’ll likely be easy to train, and quite formidable when you’re done with him.”

“She’s a girl,” said the stranger.

“All the same,” she said. “I may have an Adept’s Grimoire around here I could sell you, if you like.”

“No, thank you,” he said, placing the broken piece of his staff beside the other and wrapping the cloth around them once more. “But would you perhaps have another staff I could buy?”

“Not as would serve for fire magic."

He dipped his head in thanks, gathering the bundle that contained his broken staff. He fished in his pocket, retrieving a fat silver coin, a Melmond guilder, and passed it to her. “For your time,” he said, turning to leave.

_ That may be the most polite customer I’ve ever had _ , Maria thought. She couldn't send him away empty-handed. “Wait,” she said. The stranger turned back to her. “I don’t have a staff, but I do have a dagger with the proper spells in place.” She went to a cupboard against the back wall, pushing aside jars and boxes until she found the little weapon. 

The stranger looked it over, then nodded. “What would you like for it?”

It wasn't worth the guilder he'd already given her. “Take it,” she said. “It’s useless to anyone but a fire mage. It’s been in that cupboard for years.”

“Thank you,” the stranger said, slipping the knife into his coat. 

The bell above the door jingled as he left, and Maria was alone again. 

* * *

On the second day, it rained. It was pouring when Father Joseph returned from a healing on Dock Side, yet the red-headed warrior was back, leaning against the cathedral wall beside the freshly repaired door, trying to stay under the narrow eaves as much as possible. He was one of the Cornelian travelers who had saved the city, but it was his companion that intrigued Joseph the most. “I take it she’s back?” he asked the young man.

The warrior, who’d said his name was Kane, sighed. “How’d you guess?” He’d come without his armor today, likely due to the wet weather, but he still wore his sword belted over his plain, white shirt, tucked protectively under a brown cloak that was a bit small for him. 

Joseph admired his dedication. The boy was assiduous about guarding the young white mage in his care, even though the council was sure all of the pirate invaders were either dead or in custody. The stolen apprentices had been recovered from the pirate ship without ever waking up from their bespelled sleep, unharmed and completely untraumatized. “You needn’t wait around, you know. After all you and your friends did for them, I’m sure the Pravokan guards would be happy to arrange a suitable escort for her.”

The Cornelian grimaced. “I’d rather keep an eye on her myself.” 

“At least come inside,” Joseph said, gesturing toward the door.

“She…” He exhaled, looking annoyed. “I’d rather not.” He ran a hand through his coppery hair, scattering rain drops, the very picture of a young man who worried too much. “Would you talk to her, Father? She’s been at it for hours! I don’t think she’s even eaten since it happened!”

“White mages often fast to atone for their sins, young man.”

“What sin? The pirate’s fine! He even apologized after he was healed, if you can believe it. He was sorry that  _ she  _ hit  _ him _ !”

Joseph had heard as much. He’d also heard from one of the girl’s other companions, this boy’s father, that the girl was still an apprentice, a rather sheltered one at that. They did things differently in Cornelia’s White Hall, and he wasn't sure he approved. 

“My son, I’m sure you know it’s customary to leave white mages alone for quiet introspection as they pray.” The boy opened his mouth to say something else, but Father Joseph spread his hands before him to ward off the argument. “But I  _ will  _ talk to her.”

Kane smiled, and he truly did appear relieved. “Thank you, Father.”

The cathedral was nearly empty at this time of day, save for the young woman kneeling before the altar and an apprentice sweeping the floor by the front window. He suspected the apprentice, one of three girls in training there, had a good view of the young Cornelian outside - Joseph had heard the girls discussing how handsome the boy was, though the fact that he’d saved them all from pirate abduction may have contributed to their admiration somewhat.

He had a quiet word with the apprentice, sending her away, before he turned his full attention on the older girl. “Well, child,” he said. He didn’t kneel - he hadn’t been able to kneel comfortably on that floor in many years - but he felt the gods would forgive him if he instead sat upon the altar beside where she knelt. “I didn’t expect to see you again this soon. You were here so long yesterday.”

The girl made a stern face, but her voice was as small as she was. “Father, you shouldn’t sit on the altar like that. It’s disrespectful.”

He chuckled.  _ So very young, _ he thought. “Ramuh himself sat upon the altar in the Temple of Winds, when he preached to the Leifenish. Perhaps his knees were bad too?” 

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she looked at him slantwise from her place on the floor. “Did Kane send you after me?”

“He worries about you.”

She made a dismissive noise in the back of her throat. “He doesn’t. He just feels guilty that he wasn’t around to save me when I needed him.”

He blinked at the cynicism of that.  _ Perhaps not so sheltered after all _ , he thought. “What of your own guilt, child? Tell me, is it still the pirate you’re praying for or have you something else to confess today? I would hope it’s the latter, at your age. You’re really quite too young to be so pious.”

She went back to her prayers, seeming intent on ignoring him. He bided his time, leaning back on the altar, swinging his legs slightly. There was a trace of the North Sea in the girl’s accent, so he began whistling “The Will of Leviathan”. 

The right hymn at the right moment: in all his years, it was the one trick that had never failed him. He must have guessed her religion correctly for he hadn’t even made it to the chorus when she spoke. “Oh, Father, I’m heartsick over it! I broke the Oath!” She wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her hooded robe.

He patted the girl’s shoulder soothingly. The white mages’ Oath was a short one, its four sentences colloquially referred to as the Proclamation, the Injunctions, the Intentions, and the Vow. Of these, the Injunctions were considered by some to be the most sacred:  _ I shall end no life, harm no living thing, and live no lie. _ “You are referring to the second Injunction?”

She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut. 

“Well, child, were you thinking of harming that man at the time?”

She shook her head, her voice growing reedy and breathless. “I only wanted to get away.” 

He nodded, considering his next words. “And are you not also a living thing? Should you allow yourself to come to harm if you can prevent it?”

“I don’t know that he would have harmed me,” she said, wiping at her tears again.

“You lie to yourself, child,” he said. “Don’t violate the third Injunction alongside the second. I think you understood his intentions in the moment when he confronted you. It profits nothing to second-guess yourself when the moment has passed. Had you not stopped him, he may have hurt someone else. I think you know that. The Injunction to ‘harm no living thing’ is as much a call to save others from harm as to live nonviolently.”

“But that man could have died and it would have been my fault!”

“Sweet child, even if that man had died, it would have been the right thing to do. As a white mage, if you risk yourself, you also risk every life you could have saved if you had lived, and that would surely violate the first Injunction. Your own life is more valuable than any pirate’s. ”

“Father!” the girl said, eyes wide. “That’s blasphemy!”

_ So very young _ , he thought again.  _ So very sheltered. _ “Perhaps it is blasphemy here in the cathedral, but, my child, you are not staying in the cathedral. Outside these walls, we must be more practical in our piety.”

He stood then and began to walk away, but he stopped at the stairs to the vestry when she called, “Father?”

He looked back, waiting.

“If what you say is true…” She stopped, licking her lips before she went on. “It isn't possible to keep the Oath…”

_ Your instructors should have taught you that, _ he thought,  _ before you had to learn it so violently. _ “Each of us keeps the Oath in our own way. You must find yours for yourself.” He turned back toward the stairs, saying over his shoulder, “I will pray for you, child.” She made no reply. 

When he emerged later, the girl was gone. 

* * *

On the third day after the attack, Leila stood at her office window, looking down at the street below. A few of the stone walls bore scorch marks that the rain hadn’t taken off - those would need a good scrub - but otherwise, things were more or less back as they should be. 

“Gentlemen,” she said, turning back to the two men. “It’s an interesting story, but if you expect me to believe that young Thadius here is any kind of prophesied warrior, I’m afraid you’ll have to try harder.”

“But Mayor Gordon-” Thadius whined from his chair in the corner. 

She glared toward him, cutting him off. “Boy, what did I tell you?”

“I could stay if I was quiet,” he mumbled.

“And were you being quiet?” she snapped.

“No.”

“Eh?”

“No, ma’am.” He gave her the eyes, that kicked-puppy expression that had always worked on her friend Amelia, his grandmother, but never on her. She stared at him a little longer, until his shoulders sagged, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and all traces of feigned innocence were replaced by sullen brooding.

“As I was saying,” she said, turning back to catch the white-haired Cornelian, Redden, grinning at Thadius’s discomfort before he schooled his expression again. “The only thing magical about this one is his ability to find trouble.”

The other one, the northerner, sat straight-backed in his chair, hands folded across his lap like a regal lord, but she remembered the way the fighting had gone, the way some of her pirate attackers had been beaten down by an invisible, bare-handed foe. She wouldn’t underestimate this one. “I assure you, honored mayor,” he said, with only the slightest accent to his soft voice. “The boy has not lost any of his skill in that regard. However, our story is the truth. You may call on our white mage to testify to its veracity.”

Leila shook her head. “While normally I would take a white mage at her word, I’m led to understand yours nearly bashed some poor man’s head in. How can I know she’d speak the truth?”

“Lena doesn’t lie!” Thadius said angrily. Leila glared at him again but he didn't back down. “She doesn't!”

Redden waved him to silence. “Whether or not you believe us is irrelevant. Our request still stands.” 

She sat at the desk across from them, bracing her elbows on it as she steepled her fingers. “Grateful as I am for your aid against the pirates, and willing as I am to give you whatever supplies you need, I’m afraid what you’re asking is out of the question. No ships have sailed from here in weeks - months, even. Ships that go out on those seas don’t come back. There’s no price I could offer the Captain’s Council that would book you passage out of here.”

Redden shook his head. “It’s not passage we want. We want the  _ Prince _ .”

She bit back a laugh. “A sloop of that size can’t be crewed with less than ten. You’re a party of six.”

“How many pirates ended up in your custody when all was said and done?” the Cornelian asked. “I heard fifty?” 

“Forty-eight.” She grimaced just thinking of the logistics of it. 

“And how long would it take you to grant each of them the fair hearing they’re due under Pravokan law?”

“Get to the point, man.”

“If you give us the pirates’ ship, we’ll choose our crew from among your prisoners. It will save you the trouble of dealing with them.”

Leila leaned forward, regarding the two men critically. “You’re joking? What makes you think a crew of pirates would ever serve a pair of landsmen like yourselves?”

“Because,” said Redden, “we have what they want. Thadius?”

In the corner, the boy grinned like an old ship’s cat. He pulled a long silver chain out from beneath his shirt and over his head, holding it out to her. A green gleam flashed in the light from the window.  _ Syldra’s Tear _ .

* * *

Gus didn’t know how long he’d been down there, in the cold, wet cells under the western sector. The Pravokan guards had brought him food four times now. A few days perhaps? There were no windows and there was no bed. Only a thin sliver of torch light under the cell door kept him from total darkness. He’d slept poorly on the damp stone floor, though he imagined he would have slept poorly even in a well-appointed inn. 

He’d really done it this time. If his own conscience hadn’t made that quite clear, the guards would have. The port city was full of sailors who might have been pirates at one time or other in their lives - they took the Pirate’s Code seriously. Attacking a city, abducting white mages: no pirate alive would have batted an eye if the Pravokans sentenced the lot of them to a lifetime in those dark cells.

_ I’m going to die here, _ he realized. It shouldn’t have stung as much as it did. Here or not, it would have been death either way: the sea was too treacherous to keep sailing. 

He heard people outside the door, heard the key turn in the lock, and suddenly the orange torchlight of the hall flooded the room. A man stood outlined in the doorway, his red cloak brilliantly lit by the lantern he carried. Gus squinted against the brightness. 

“Stand up,” said the man, “and back against the wall, please.”

Gus did as the man said. A second, older man stepped into the room, a monk of some sort, in a loose, wide-sleeved tunic that tied in the front. The monk approached him cautiously, directing him to a set of manacles set into the cell’s back wall.

When Gus’s wrists were secured, the man at the door came into the cell, setting the lantern in the floor off to one side. With the light behind them, Gus couldn’t make out the faces of the red-cloaked man or the monk. 

The man in the red cloak spoke, his voice loud in the tiny chamber. “Are you a religious man?”

It seemed an unusual thing to ask. “What?”

“That’s Leviathan’s mark on the pendant you’re wearing. I asked if you were a religious man.”

Gus licked his lips, pondering his answer. His throat felt very dry all of a sudden. “You see things out on the ocean sometimes. Things you can’t explain. I suppose I’m religious enough.”

The man before him nodded. “I only ask because more than a few of the white mages in Pravoka worship Leviathan, including the one who came here with us. I’m wondering how the sea god would feel about violence committed against the holiest of his children.”

Gus felt his heart beating faster at the coldness in the man’s voice. “We weren’t going to hurt them,” he said. “I swear it. There’s a man in Melmond as will pay good money for anyone who brings white mages into town. We needed the pay!”

“So you were going to kidnap them?”

“Only to get ‘em aboard ship. They’d have come along willingly enough after that.”

“You think so? In my experience, white mages can be awfully stubborn about associating with unsavory types.”

Gus shook his head. “There’s plague in Melmond, deadly plague. Leiden’s keeping it quiet because he doesn’t want to look weak in front of Cornelia, but they’ve no white mages to speak of. How many white mages do you know who wouldn’t give in after a story like that?”

The two men didn't seem surprised by his statement. He wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t already know. How many of his shipmates had they questioned already before visiting his cell? The monk remained silent, but the cloaked man said, “Did you ever consider asking them?” He turned to the door then and called, “Kane!” 

A younger man came in, dressed in the red uniform of a Cornelian guard, followed by a girl in a white hood. She walked right up to him, stepping so close that even in the shadows he could make out the shy smile on her face. Her posture said she wasn’t afraid of him, though he had no doubt the young Cornelian who leaned casually against the wall near the door, hand resting lightly on his sword hilt, would have killed him in an eye blink if Gus so much as leered at her. 

“Oh, it’s you!” she said, sounding surprised. “You tried to hit me.” Her tone was light, with no hint of accusation, just stating a fact as if she were commenting on the color of his shirt or the state of the weather. 

Gus recognized her then and felt his heart drop down into his boots. This was the girl from the bridge! Both she and the guard had been with that black mage he’d fought, the one who’d beaten him. The Cornelian guard stiffened, fingers flexing, but he didn’t draw his sword.

He tried to speak, to defend himself, but his tongue seemed too large for his mouth. “I, that is to say, miss…” 

“How's your hand?” she asked.

“It's fine, miss,” he said, his voice croaking.

“Are you sure? I could heal it for you.”

He shook his head. “That won't be necessary.”

She reached up, placing her hands on either side of his face. 

“No, miss, you really needn’t bother,” he said, shrinking back as far as the wall would allow, but she only looked into his eyes. The darkness of the cell seemed to retreat for a moment and he was able to see her eyes clearly, green as a new spring leaf, and she smiled broadly up at him like an old friend, but then she stepped away and the room seemed darker than it had before.

“This one,” she said to the cloaked man.

The man nodded, gesturing to the young guard, who escorted the girl out again.

Gus flexed his hand, found it still pained him. She hadn’t healed it after all. When he was alone with the cloaked man and the monk once more, Gus asked, “What did she do to me?” 

“She forgave you,” said the cloaked man, turning to retrieve the lantern.  Now that his eyes were adjusting, Gus could see that the man was only a little older than himself, though his hair was stark white. The man stepped closer, saying, “The council of Pravoka has given me your ship, me and my friends. But I need a crew. Our white mage believes you could do well for us, but I would need some assurances from you.”

“Only assurance I can give you is that you’ll die out there. Those seas aren’t safe.”

“Would you rather die in here? I’m told there's a whole network of cells beneath this city. Tunnels even lower and deeper than these. That would be under the canal, you understand. I’m led to believe it gets quite damp that far down. Some of your crewmates are destined for those cells, I’m afraid.”

“Some of them deserve it,” Gus said.

“And yourself?”

“As much as any man.” Gus hung his head. “There’s nothing you can say that will get me back on a ship again.”

“Nothing?” The man smirked, stepping closer. “That’s a shame. Josiah Shipman’s grandson sails with us. Seems he's inherited his grandfather’s luck. You have heard of it, haven't you? We expect fair winds all the way. But if you’d rather stay down here...”

He waited, but the man said no more. Finally, Gus asked, “What would you want from me?”

“Your oath: that you’ll change your ways and serve us well. You’ll be sailing with that little white mage out there. We can’t have you disappointing her.” 

_ Fair winds and a chance to sail again. _ Would he rather die on the open sea or in this dank cell? 

“What’s your answer, pirate?”

“I’ll serve you. I swear to Leviathan,” Gus said.

The cloaked man leaned in close, the light of the lantern reflecting in his eyes. “Don't swear to the sea god,” he said. “Swear to me. And make me believe it.”

* * *

The morning of the fifth day, it rained again. Ursula woke before sunrise, hearing the water beat against the inn’s slate-tiled roof. Well, it would be a slow morning, then. Some of the townsfolk regularly took their meals at her inn, but on a day like this, folks tended to spend the morning indoors, hoping the weather would clear later. It might mean a larger crowd for the evening meal - either the rain would quit by then or folks would be stir crazy from staying home all day - but at least for breakfast she only needed to worry about her six guests. 

The common room was chilly when she got there, so after she turned up the lamps, she set about starting a fire in the big hearth. Normally, Belinda would do it, but the serving girl tended to wake a little later than Ursula did, and she knew that one of her guests was an early riser. A decent fire was the least she could do for him. 

She felt bad for the young black mage. Her understanding was that he and the Cornelian guard with him had saved half the city during that pirate attack, albeit the poorer half, where the less reputable shops were. But while the guard had been sought out by various shopkeepers and city officials for tokens of thanks, Jack had been largely ignored. People just weren’t ready to accept a black mage as a hero.

Given the stories, she herself had been nervous about having a black mage under her roof, but she’d found the blue-eyed young man to be quiet and well-mannered. He’d asked her for advice about shops, like any normal traveler, and had offered to help in the kitchen as though he were a lodger rather than a paying guest. Even when she overheard the other fellow, Kane, yelling at him for some mistake, he had only bowed his head apologetically.

“You should have told me sooner!” the guard had said. “If I’d known, I could have planned for it.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was useless,” Jack said, so vulnerable that it had tugged at Ursula’s heart.

“Bahamut’s beard, Jack,” Kane snapped, defeated by that sad tone. “You’ve hardly proven useless! Oath be damned, you’ve held your own so far.”

That had been on their first day here. As far as Ursula could tell, the young black mage had avoided his companions ever since, all save the younger boy who seemed to be a pupil of his. He kept to himself, taking all his meals in his room and scarcely venturing out. In her opinion, it wasn’t healthy.

She’d no more than stacked the logs when he came shuffling down the stairs as he had at about this time every morning, fully clothed in coat, scarf, and gloves, but still half asleep, rubbing his eyes. “Good morning, master Jack,” she said to him.

“Ma’am,” he said, flopping loosely into a chair at the table nearest the hearth. His short hair stood up on his head like a black dandelion. He bit off a yawn behind his scarf to ask her, “Do you need any help starting breakfast?”

“Not at all,” she said. It occurred to her that perhaps he was simply hungry and wanted her to get on with things. “Though I suppose you could start this fire for me so I could get back to the kitchen?”

He nodded, holding his hands out for the flint and steel, helping her to her feet as he took them. He slid from the chair to the floor, fumbling the steel slightly as he used it. She noticed that one of hands didn’t seem to work as well as the other, but the kindling caught almost from the first spark he struck.

“That was quick. Bit of magic there?” she asked.

“No, ma’am,” he said, moving sticks about to spread the little flame. “Not at this time of morning. I’m good with fire, that’s all.”

“Well, you make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring a tray out for you when it’s ready.” She headed toward the kitchen, leaving the door open so she would hear if he needed anything.

She gathered ingredients for one of her quick breads, and heard him speak while she was cracking eggs into a mixing bowl. “A bit early to be running errands, isn’t it?” She didn’t think he was speaking to her.  

She peeked out into the common room, and saw there the white mage girl standing wide-eyed by the front door. “Jack!” the girl said, holding a hand over her heart in apparent alarm. She was without her white hood this morning, dressed in a long, black tunic that came not quite to her knees. Beneath it, her legs were bare but for the sandals on her feet.

Jack cleared his throat, very obviously averting his eyes from those pale, smooth legs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you, my lady.” He stood before the fireplace now; the girl wouldn’t have been able to see him in the floor where he’d been kneeling. 

Ursula ducked back into the kitchen, listening as she prepared breakfast. Eavesdropping was an innkeeper’s privilege, she always said, but that didn’t mean she had to stare at them while she did it.

“I was afraid you were Kane,” said the girl. Her tone suggested the young guardsman was the last person in the world she desired to see. The way the handsome soldier had arrived carrying the poor girl on the night of the attack, Ursula had at first believed the two must be lovers. He had certainly guarded her with enough dedication in the days that followed. But then the two had gone to bickering so thoroughly that Ursula had decided they must be siblings instead. 

“You’ll only upset him if you go off on your own,” Jack said.

“He doesn’t need to watch me every hour of the day!” said the girl, sounding exasperated. “It’s not going to happen again!”

The black mage sounded sad, serious. “It happened once. Wasn’t that enough?” 

She didn’t answer.

“Where were you going?” Jack asked.

“Just… out,” she said.

“In this weather?”

“I thought maybe the rain would help.” 

Jack spoke haltingly, as if searching for the right words. “I know you’re upset… about what happened. But… My lady, it’s not as if you used magic to hurt that man. If you were a black mage-”

“I’m not,” she said, cutting him off.

“But have you considered trying-”

She interrupted him again, speaking more firmly than Ursula thought the situation warranted. “I am a white mage. It’s all I’ve ever been. I will never be anything but a white mage.”

“I understand,” he said.

There was a long silence then. Ursula craned her neck around to look through the open doorway, but the two mages were still there. She went back to her mixing bowl, waiting. Finally, the girl spoke, her voice as small as a kitten’s mew. “Are you angry at me?”   

“No!” Jack said quickly, more emotion in that one syllable than Ursula had heard in his voice all that week. 

“But you are angry.”

“Not-” he started, but she spoke right over him.

“And you’ve been avoiding me.”

“Lena, no. It’s…” He sighed. “I’m angry at myself. If I hadn’t been so stubborn about my own oath, you would never have had to break yours. I’m so sorry I left you alone.”

The girl ran to him then - Ursula heard her tiny feet rushing across the common room floor and turned in time to see the girl throw her arms around the black mage. Jack stood thunderstruck for what seemed a full minute before he wrapped his arms around her in return.

At a noise on the stairs, the two of them sprang apart, Lena blushing furiously, but it was only Belinda making her way toward the kitchen, passing the two mages as though she didn’t see them. She may not have, judging by how sleepy she sounded when she said, “Good morning, ma’am,” grabbing her own apron off the hook beside the kitchen door.

“Shh,” Ursula said, peeking into the common room once more, but the moment had passed.  

Jack said, “At least let me accompany you outside, my lady. Kane can hardly object if you take someone with you, and it might help me back into his good graces if that someone is me.”

“Jack, it’s pouring out there!”

“I hear rumors of a rain-repelling charm currently under development.” He offered her his arm, and she beamed as she took it. As he led her to the door, he said, “You know, I really do understand. My mother wanted me to be a white mage.”  The girl laughed as they stepped out into the rain and the inn door closed behind them.

"Shall I start the bacon, ma'am?" Belinda asked.

Ursula nodded. _He'll be alright,_ she thought, returning to her own task. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _4/29/16: I’ve mentioned before that Final Fantasy was something my late brother and I played together when we were kids. There’s a reason for that: without me, he was hopeless at RPGs._   
>  _I don’t remember which RPG was our first – there were a few utterly forgettable titles before Final Fantasy came out – but we took turns playing it. He’d been outside, skateboarding or some such, and when he came back I was halfway through a dungeon. “What is that? Where are you?” he asked._   
>  _"Some cave in that forest by the town," I said._   
>  _"What cave? I didn’t see any cave! How did you know there was a cave?"_   
>  _"Are you serious?" I asked. "That was all anybody in the town would talk about!"_   
>  _The look on his face, I’ll never forget it. Reader, I had blown his mind. "You mean the people can talk?!"_   
>  _He was a brilliant tactician, my brother, a strategist, could kick my ass at any competitive game, and watching him play action games was a thing of beauty, but he never – never! – learned to talk to the townspeople. He just wanted to go tearing off through the countryside killing imps all day._


	19. Sailing Ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Sailing Ship from Final Fantasy I (so cheery!). Click[here](https://youtu.be/tX5DSHTbUx8) for the original or [here](https://youtu.be/dFXFaTZQGmU) for a rockin’ guitar cover. And while you’re clicking things, click [here](https://youtu.be/z6S5Sd57nyI) for the battle theme because (spoilers) that’s happening._

Thad started awake when Kane thumped his arm. He’d nearly nodded off again. It was far too early to be up and about, the sky only just beginning to brighten in the east. Orin had promised him he could go back to sleep once they were under sail, but sitting on a crate at the foot of the dock, waiting for the Pravokan guards to escort their crew from the cells beneath the guardhouse on Dock Side, he could scarcely keep his eyes open. Still, there was no need for thumping.

“That hurt,” he said.

Kane, standing beside him, grumbled something that might have been, “Sorry,” making a sour face but not looking at him; the guardsman’s gaze was fixed past the city entrance, on the figures even now making their way down the big bridge toward them.

Thad sighed. It was a good enough apology, he guessed. As good as he was going to get, anyway. But for once, he knew Kane’s anger was not actually directed at him.

“It’s no good being angry,” Jack said from Kane’s other side. The mage, Thad knew, had been awake for hours already. Wearing a scarf as yellow as a soft sunrise, he looked as refreshed and alert by now as most people were by midday. He seemed preoccupied with his hands, tugging at his new brown leather gloves, a parting gift from the innkeeper who seemed to have taken a shine to him. “We can’t crew the ship on our own.”

“They’re pirates,” Kane said, sneering as though the words left a foul taste in his mouth.

“Pirates are people too,” said Thad. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing inherently wrong with being a pirate, provided the piracy was happening to other people. Joining the pirate crew - or having the pirates join theirs - seemed the easiest way to choose sides. Besides, now that he’d met them all, he thought they’d get along fine if Kane would just give them a chance. “Lena says these are good ones.”

“And neither of you thought to talk her out of it?”

Jack shook his head. “The only reason I won’t be spending my summer in a Cornelian prison is because she vouched for me in her capacity as a soul reader. You trusted her opinion of me. Why not trust her on this?”

Kane threw a hand out, gesturing toward the approaching prisoners, who were nearly halfway up the bridge. “Because unlike you, these men tried to kill me a week ago!”

“If you can’t trust her, at least trust your father. Surely you don’t think Lord Redden would have gone through with this if he had any doubts?” said Jack.

Thad slipped down from the box, ready to walk away if the discussion grew heated. He’d already heard Kane having this same argument with Redden, passionately and at top volume, before they’d gone to the cells. That nice innkeeper had given the two of them an earful for “upsetting the poor white mage” and driven them out into the street with her long wooden spoon, saying they could finish their argument out there. She’d been all smiles after that, treating Lena and Thad to fresh muffins in the kitchen, with plenty of “there, there”s and pats on the back for Lena, who was indeed shaken by all the yelling. They had been good muffins, with bits of bitterberry in them, and he’d eaten them all before Kane and Redden returned, having agreed to disagree.

But Kane wasn’t getting angry now, or at least he was trying not to, closing his eyes and breathing deep as Thad had seen him do at other times. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

They stood in silence then, watching the men get closer and closer. Though it would have taken months for the Pravokan authorities to conduct trials - trials that would likely have gone poorly for the prisoners - Lena’s soul readings had been completed in a matter of hours, leaving them with a crew of sixteen very repentant men, ready to swear whatever oaths she cared to name. He’d gone with her to meet them all in the cells yesterday, and when they’d learned his name was Shipman, they’d treated him as well as they treated her. He was looking forward to sailing with them.

The pirates finally arrived at the city wall, escorted by at least two dozen guards. That seemed unnecessary, seeing as none of the prisoners were armed, their confiscated weapons having already been loaded on the ship with the other supplies Redden had arranged. Sixteen was a small crew for a ship this size, but hardly minimal. The work of sailing with so few would leave little time for pirating, a detail which would have been too much trouble to explain to a landsman like Kane.  

The guards had the men walking in single file. When they reached the dock at last, Jack muttered something under his breath. Thad recognized it as Leifenish from the few lessons Jack had given him already, but he hadn’t learned any of these words, nor with quite this inflection. He hoped he could remember them later.

“Him?” Jack said. “We’re sailing with him?”

Kane crossed his arms, shaking his head. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Jack pointed to the pirate at the front of the line, a thin man in a filthy, ruffled purple shirt that might once have been expensive. Thad thought the man’s name was Refial. “You could have told me she’d chosen _him_!”

“Oh, now you agree with me?” Kane said. “A whole crew of pirates doesn’t bother you but throw one mage into the bargain and you’re against the whole plan?”

“What’s wrong with having another mage? Lena says he’s nice,” Thad said. Refial had certainly seemed so, during their conversation yesterday. He’d made both Lena and Thad laugh out loud with the tale of how he became a pirate to begin with.  

“Lena seems to have forgotten how he single-handedly captured over half of the Pravokan day squad with a sleep spell,” said Kane.

“He’s not a mage,” Lena said from behind them, stepping between Jack and Kane. She’d come down from the ship, along with the mayor, Orin, and Redden, who had been checking over the ship’s supplies and now stood chatting by the gangplank. “Well, he might be, if he had a little instruction.” She looked shyly at Jack with a slightly guilty smile, shrugging apologetically. “I thought… maybe… you could teach him?”

Jack’s eyes widened, the rest of his face unreadable behind the scarf, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t even seem to be breathing.

“Oh, please, Jack!” Lena said, with a little laugh, tugging on his sleeve. “Give him a chance! The two of you have so much in common.”

Just then, the line of pirates reached them, and, as if to prove her point, Refial directed a smooth and graceful bow toward Lena, greeting her with a formal, “My lady!” Lena smiled brightly at him, but the guards directed him forward toward the ship.

Jack covered his face with his hand, muttering more words in Leifenish that Thad hurried to memorize.

“Lena, we don’t know anything about them,” Kane said, biting off each word as though there were a string of others behind them struggling to get out.

“ _You_ don’t know anything about them,” she said, gently. “I’m a soul reader, remember? I know everything I need to know.” She pointed at one of the pirates in the line. “Cole here became a pirate after his father died. He took a job on the first ship he saw, no questions asked, just to get away from his grief. And this one, Leo, comes from a proud tradition of piracy: his father and grandfather - even his grandmother! - were all pirates before him. He values his honor very highly. And that one-”

Kane cut her off. “You got all that from a few seconds of soul reading?”

“No,” she said. “I got it from going back to speak with each of them yesterday while you and your father were seeing to the supplies.”

“You- What?” Kane spluttered. “You went back alone?”

“Of course not. I took Thadius with me.”

Thad cringed, stepping away, but not fast enough. Kane’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Shipman?” he said, his voice a hiss.

Thad spoke in a rush. “I’m sorry! She made me promise not to tell! Nothing happened! They were nice to us!”

“I trust them,” Lena said. “Each of them. I’d trust them with my life.” The nearest pirate, a big man called Gus, blushed scarlet at her words, but Lena laughed, a trilling laugh like a spring birdsong, and said, “It’s going to be alright. You’ll see. These are good men.”

None of them said anything as the rest of the pirates filed aboard, followed by Lena and the two older boys, and then Lord Redden. Finally, Thad found himself alone on the dock with Orin, the mayor, and more than a score of guards.

“We thank you again for your assistance, madam,” Orin said, giving the mayor one of his little bows.

Mayor Gordon snorted. “As I’ve said, you saved us. We’re grateful for what you did.” She looked down at Thad, reached out to ruffle his hair. “I’ll have a word with this one if you don’t mind.”

The monk nodded, patting Thad on the back before boarding the ship.

The mayor motioned to the guards, and at a word from one who must have been an officer, they marched up the dock, giving the two of them some privacy. “Well, boy,” she said. “It’s like when you ran away to Cornelia all over again. This is the second time you’ve sailed off on a pirate ship with no clue what you’re doing.”

“Third,” Thad said, but his voice caught and it came out quieter than he meant it to.

“Speak up.”

“It’s the third time, if you count the time I sailed here with Pappy.” He’d only been a little thing back then, and so happy his grandfather had come to take him away he hadn’t even asked where they were going. He’d never once missed Safe Port until he’d heard it was lost.

“True enough,” she said, nodding. “But at least your pappy knew what he was about. This lot…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “They think you’re going to save the world. Make the seas safe to sail again. How does that sit with you?”

He opened his mouth, but all the words dried up and went away before he could say them. He shrugged. “Seems a bit mad, ma’am.”

“That it does. My head tells me those men are crazy, and the boys foolhardy, but…” She looked over at the pirate ship, seeming to scrutinize it from stem to stern, then gazed out to sea. “The girl says it’s the truth, and whatever kind of white mage she might be, I believe her. My gut tells me you’re in good hands.”

He nodded. The mayor had been a captain once, and captains learned to trust their guts. Pappy had always said so. His own gut said so.

She ruffled his hair once again. “At least this time I’m seeing you off properly. No more of this sneaking about between you and me, do you understand? Your grandmother would roll over in her grave, make no mistake.”

He hugged her, his grandmother’s best friend, this hard woman who had tried to take care of him. She could have done a fine job if he hadn’t been so hard-headed himself. She returned the hug, but only briefly, before lightly pushing him away. “Off with you, boy,” she said, turning her back on him and walking up the dock, toward her city.

_My city_ , he thought, walking to the ship. _I did help save it, after all._

“Boy?”

He turned.

The mayor had stopped in the middle of the dock. The guards waited respectfully just past her. The city lay beyond them. “Come back and see us when you’re done.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He didn’t look back again until they were well under way.

* * *

“Once more,” Jack said, looking out to sea through his aether sight. He pulled a flow of aether from the _Sahagin Prince_ ’s wake, drawing it slowly towards him over Thad’s head as the boy stood beside him at the ship’s railing. “Tell me when you think you can feel it.”

Thad nodded, face scrunched up in determination.

It had occurred to Jack shortly after they left Pravoka, when he noticed Thad studying the book he’d received from the witch Matoya, that perhaps the boy could learn to feel the aether. After all, most red mages were able to feel the aether as children, learning to control it in adulthood after years of diligent study. To Jack’s surprise, and Thad’s delight, it seemed the boy had a knack for it; he had been able to sense the currents at least half the time.

The aether here flowed swiftly, shaped only by the wind and the churning Aldean Sea for unnumbered years. People left an impression on the aether around them - not a bad effect, for the most part, but a noticeable one - and there was none of that here. There were no villages along the sea’s rocky southern coast, not for miles. They’d sailed two days already and were at least two more from the kingdom of Elfheim, with the captain keeping close to the little-traveled coast until he could be sure, he said, of the fair winds he’d been promised.

“There!” Thad said, smiling broadly. “From this side, right?” He patted his left shoulder.

“Good!” Jack told him. “Now, concentrate on seeing it. I’ll hold it there. Remember what we talked about?”

“Don’t focus on anything.”

“Right.” He swirled the aether into a ball where the boy had sensed it, letting it flow freely there, trying not to pull any into himself. Triggering the corona made the pirates uncomfortable, and there was no need for it anyway, since he didn’t plan to cast any spells. It was difficult to maintain such subtle control without his staff, like trying to paint a thin line with a broad brush, but he managed, making the necessary signs with his right hand hidden in his coat pocket.

When he had the aether fixed in place, a swirling vortex that would hold for a few minutes on its own, he let his eyes wander, taking in the rest of the ship. Redden and Orin stood near the ship’s wheel, talking with Gabbiani, the man the pirates had chosen as their captain. He was of an age with Lord Redden, but there the similarities ended. He was shorter than the bard, with a bald head and weathered face that reminded Jack of a wooden carving. The man had a short, clipped style of speaking, to the point, with not an ounce of flourish in either his manner or his vocabulary. Gabbiani had been the quartermaster under Bikke, the ship’s former captain, and he pointed toward the shore as he spoke while the big man called Gus steered the ship.

Gabbiani kept the pirate crew busy, tending the sails, keeping the deck scrubbed clean. There always seemed to be repairs to be made, rigging to be replaced, and the small crew went about their work efficiently. Kane was on the main deck, near the front of the ship, on his hands and knees with a thick-bristled brush, talking and laughing with one of the other pirates as they worked. For all that he had argued against hiring a pirate crew to begin with, he seemed to be making the most of the situation now. The guardsman was driven to know how things worked, and the complications of life aboard ship had enthralled him from the moment they’d left Pravoka’s dock.  

Even Lena had found work for herself. She sat not far away, on a bench beside the door to the captain’s cabin, working over a length of rope with glowing hands, warding it against sea water just as one would ward a spellbook. The edge of her white robe was tucked up around her knees, and he had to force himself not to focus on her legs as she idly swung her bare feet beneath the bench. Her pale blue aura glittered in his aether sight like sunlight on water, blurring about the edges as it blended with the aether around her, flowing in and out just as a black mage’s might, though it didn’t mean she _was_ a black mage.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her what he’d learned from the shopkeeper. He could see how heavily the violation of her Oath weighed on her already. How could he tell a white mage who thought she was a failure that she might be a black mage after all? He’d convinced himself that there was no need to mention it - obviously, her own aether reserves were enough to sustain her as a more than passable white mage, so pleased to put her Protect spells to good use. She smiled sweetly as she worked, happy to be at sea.

A thin ribbon of aether wafted toward her, and it took Jack far too long to realize it was his fault. Instead of maintaining the Sign of the Staff, the hand in his pocket was instead holding the small conch shell he kept there, the one she’d given him on the beach in front of Matoya’s cave, and while he’d been thinking of her, the aether had responded. It was even now stretching out to caress her face. _What if she feels it?_ he wondered. _What if she feels it as easily as Thad does? What will I tell her then?_ He called the aether back, struggling to regain the control he’d lost.

“Why are you looking at her like that? Do you like her or something?”

Thad’s voice startled him - he had almost forgotten the boy was there - and in his surprise, he pulled hard on the aether, yanking it away from Lena and into himself. He felt the corona flare up, a sparking, hot sensation like a popping knuckle inside his skull, dissipating again as he hurried the current of energy along, letting it pass through him like water through a sieve.

Thad leaned against the railing, arms crossed as he looked critically up at Jack.

“You’re supposed to be concentrating on the aether,” Jack said, but he felt his face flush behind his scarf. He darted his eyes back toward her - just a quick glance, to make sure the aether was back to normal - but he stared again when he saw Refial coming out of the captain’s cabin. The thin man bowed to Lena, speaking cheerfully to her. Dressed in secondhand silks, Refial seemed more like a shabby royal courtier than a pirate. Jack felt his fingers flex inside their leather gloves.

“I was,” Thad said. “I got bored.” He looked between Jack and Refial with one eyebrow raised. “Are you scared of him?”

“What? Of him? Why would I be scared of him?” Through his aether sight, Jack could see nothing about Refial to indicate he was a born black mage: his aura, an ordinary orange color, clung to him tightly, almost entirely separate from the aether around him, and the core of it, the bit of aether inside of him that a mage used to cast spells, was almost nonexistent. Jack wondered how the man was able to cast at all.

From her seat on the bench, Lena laughed at something Refial said, and the foppish pirate flashed a perfect smile in return. _He speaks to her so easily,_ Jack thought. The scarf covering his own imperfect mouth suddenly felt stifling.

Thad went on, “Well, I mean, you won’t talk to him.”

“I don’t have Kane’s gift of easily befriending people,” he said.

“Oh,” said the boy, seeming disappointed. “I just thought it would have been funny if you were, since he’s terrified of you.”  

“What makes you think he’s terrified of me?”

“Most pirates are. All the ones from Safe Port, anyway. There aren’t any black mages there, you know. All the good scary stories are about black mages. They come out of the dark with their eyes all glowy and take naughty children away.”

_Great_ , Jack thought. _I’m already the stuff of their nightmares and they didn’t even have to see my face first._ Could he change their minds? Could he just walk right up to Refial and try to say something friendly? _Maybe it would be easier with Lena there,_ he thought.

He took a step toward her and Refial, and the ship shuddered beneath him, with a noise like a gate on a rusted hinge. He reached for the railing to steady himself. A pirate shouted up in the rigging, and several others shouted in response. The ship rocked gently, as though passing through a particularly rough swell, and then settled again.

“What was that?” he asked Thad.

The boy shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Jack,” Lena said, moving in beside him, clinging to his arm. Refial stood close behind her, but still she’d come to him, and he revelled in the realization for the space of a heartbeat before the fear in her eyes sank in. “There’s something down there. I feel it.”

“Get inside, miss,” Gabbiani said, descending from the quarterdeck along with Orin and Redden. “Take the boy with you. We’ve seen this before.”

“Surely it’s too early in the year for them, captain?” said Cole, a young man about Kane’s age with white-blond hair and a short, curved scar on his right temple.  

The captain shook his head. “Not necessarily.” He turned to Redden and said, “What kind of winter did the Aldean Sea have this year? Mild?”

“It was,” said the bard.

There was a deep, hollow thump from below decks, as though something had knocked against the bottom of the ship. And then another. And another. Jack leaned over the railing, looking down at the water. Dark shapes swam there, the water boiling with their movement. Beside him, Lena tightened her grip on his arm. “I think you should go inside,” he said.

“But what-”

“Sahagin,” said Gabbiani. “A school of them. Cole, take these two to the cabin. Bolt the door. Refial, up. Take the mage with you. The rest of you, arms. Go.”

“This way, please, miss,” the young pirate said, gesturing for Lena to follow.

“Go on,” Jack said. “You, too, Thad.” The boy practically ran through the door to the captain’s cabin. Lena followed slowly, looking over her shoulder as Cole steered her inside.  

“It’s Jack, right?” Refial said, when the door closed behind her. “How are you with heights?”

“I’m a terrible climber,” Jack admitted.

Around them, the rest of the crew ran about the ship, fetching weapons, securing the sails. Refial said, “And I’m a terrible fighter. What I can do, though, is quiver like a right coward up in the crow’s nest and throw that sleep spell of mine at anything that offends my delicate sensibilities. Would you be any good at something like that, do you suppose?”

“I’ve never tried the quivering thing before, but I’m sure I can manage the rest.”

Refial snorted a laugh. “Try to keep up then.” He led Jack to the net of ropes on one side of the ship that extended up to the little platform at the top of the mast. Refial climbed deftly, reaching the top long before Jack did. Jack was nearly there when someone below cried, “They’re coming!” and he looked down. It was much farther than he anticipated, and he had to cling to the rigging with his eyes shut for a moment to fight off a sudden dizziness.

Refial shouted to him, and when he opened his eyes again, the man had a hand extended down, ready to pull him up. “Decided to give the quivering a try?” he said, when Jack was on the platform at last.

“Can’t let you have all the fun.”

“It takes some people like that, the first time. Just hold still until it passes.”

“I’m over it,” Jack said, though he kept to his knees, hands clamped hard on the edge of the platform. He drew on the aether, focused on the deck, on the short, finned creatures scampering over the railings below. Their high-pitched shrieking hurt Jack’s ears even from this distance; he couldn’t imagine what it must be like fighting them up close. He could see Kane down there, the only redhead in sight, defending the forward deck with some of the pirates. Orin fought beside the captain and Gus on the quarterdeck. Redden defended the door to the cabin.

He cast the sleep spell over and over again, no longer worried about triggering a corona, no longer embarrassed about forming the signs - there was no time for that now. For each shrieking creature he struck down, two more seemed to take its place, pouring out of the water like ants from a kicked anthill. His own aether depleted with each spell he cast, his breathing growing more labored as the magical effort on his soul extended to his body, but still they kept coming.

He stopped to catch his breath, but could still see the sleep spells flung far and fast as Refial kept casting. _It’s not possible_ , he thought. _He didn’t have this much aether in him!_ He looked over at the thin man, who waved his arms about as though he were physically grabbing the aether. His eyes were as clear as any normal man’s. The corona that should have been formed by the aether passing through Refial’s soul wasn’t there. “How are you doing this?” Jack asked.

Refial flicked his hand down, toward a party of sahagin swarming over the prow of the ship; the aether flew to meet them. The creatures fell to the deck in a heap, quickly dealt with by one of the crew. Refial smiled in satisfaction. “Never had a teacher, did I? Just sort of figured it out one day.”

“You shouldn’t be able to cast it like that!”

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t have you around to tell me.”

The ship lurched beneath them. Jack held tight, but Refial fell, catching himself in the rigging with a fearful cry. There was a sound like a branch breaking, and a commotion from the quarterdeck as both Gus and the captain threw themselves at the ship’s rapidly spinning wheel. Jack heard the men shouting but couldn’t make out their words. “What are they saying?”

“The beasts are going for the rudder!” Refial yelled.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Jack muttered. He drew on the aether again, letting it pass over and through his soul, shaping it there, knowing his eyes sparked with lightning as he held the spell, taking careful, deliberate aim at the water off the back of the ship, and then letting it fly. The bolt ripped the air in two with a deafening clap.

There was one last series of shrieks from the sahagin, the clatter of weapons, and then the victorious shouts of the men below. Jack flopped back, leaning against the mast and staring up at the cloudless sky, panting for breath, his fingers sore from gripping the edge of the platform so tightly. Eventually, Refial climbed back up beside him.

“Are they gone?” Jack asked.

“Oh, yes,” the thin man said, looking down over the side. “But… I don’t understand. The lightning didn’t appear to have any effect on them. It looked as though only a handful were hurt by it, but still they ran.”

Jack shook his head. “It wasn’t the lightning. Lightning only dances across the water’s surface. Sound travels well enough underwater, though.”

Refial laughed. “Calling down lightning just to hear the thunder? Oh, brilliant. You, sir, are brilliant.” There was a shout from below. Refial leaned over the side of the platform, waving, and called down, “We’re fine!” To Jack, he said, “You are fine, aren’t you? Casting never hits me quite as hard as it seems to have hit you. But then, I’ve never cast anything like what you did just now. Can you teach me, do you think? To do what you do?”

“Funny,” said Jack. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

* * *

_**END OF PART I** _

_** ** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _5/6/16: I started writing Final Fantasy: Fated just after Christmas. I had it all planned out, and I was pretty sure the whole mess was going to be 40 chapters long. By New Years, I had the first six chapters done. My goal of posting one chapter per week seemed very doable. I was sure I’d have the whole novel finished by the end of April._   
>  _Take a minute to google the word “hubris”; I’ll wait._   
>  _This is the first time I’ve ever taken a serious stab at writing something this long and it’s been a learning experience. Those first six chapters were nothing. After that, it all started getting complicated. I needed each chapter to do more things, and that sort of voodoo requires more words. I found I needed chapters I hadn’t originally planned for and those had to be invented out of thin air (including a few of the ones I’ve posted so far), or that some needed to be two chapters instead of one, so things turned out longer than I originally planned._   
>  _In short, I’ve caught up with myself. This chapter-a-week thing just ain’t happening. I hate to pull a George R.R. Martin on you (particularly since I just had my first comment from a kind reader who told me I had them looking forward to Fridays now), but in real life I’m a youth services librarian, and the Summer Reading Program is about to beat my butt from here to August. (My beta reader, DizzyRedhead, is in the same line of work, so she wouldn’t be around to edit whatever I write anyway.)_   
>  _However!_   
>  _If you’re enjoying the story, don’t despair. I’m still writing it. It’s the only thing I’m working on right now. I still have a plan, I don’t have writer’s block, and I’m not quitting. Writing this story is how I spend all my free time – I just don’t have a lot of free time. Adulting is hard._   
>  _Part II, starting with chapter 20, goes live July 29. I hope you’ll come back for it!_


	20. Something to Protect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Something to Protect from Final Fantasy IX. Click[here](https://youtu.be/zq9pHIVtWKs) for the original or [here](https://youtu.be/sU0S7QjnLM8) for a rockin’ remix. And, hey, thanks for enduring the summer hiatus! Here's [thirty minutes of goodness to brighten your day.](https://youtu.be/hjwmOlLPvCE) _

“There it is,” Felder said from his place in the rigging beside Kane, sneering as though the words left a bad taste in his mouth. They looked down on the kingdom of Elfheim as the wounded ship limped into the harbor after nearly six days at sea. The damaged rudder had added two days to their journey. If not for the perfect winds, which the men all attributed to Shipman for whatever superstitious reasons, the trip would have taken far longer. 

“Is it really as bad as all that?” Kane asked. “It looks gorgeous from here.” The elves were renowned the world over for their connection to the land, a connection that was evident even from the harbor. The village surrounding the docks, with its buildings of rough-hewn logs, looked as if it had grown there. The streets were cobbled stone, and everywhere there were flowers. His mind conjured up a memory of the gardens at Cornelia Castle, and of a crown of yellow roses on top of yellow hair. 

“Aye, and fire’s pretty from the outside, but you won’t catch me sitting in it,” said Cole from his place in the crow’s nest above them. Kane immediately thought of Jack, then felt bad about it. The mage had been trying so hard not to let the pirates see his face, successfully thus far, even if he’d had to miss a few meals to do it. “Nor will you catch me setting foot outside of the harbor town.”

The harbor town had no name: it was technically part of Elfheim, though many miles removed from the rest of the city to discourage outsiders from visiting. Not that they planned to stay long in either the harbor or the city itself, just visible on the horizon beyond the dense forest. Kane’s father was convinced the Warriors of Light were needed in the city-state of Melmond where he had grown up. The crew had told many tales of the dreadful plague they had seen when they were last there. Jack, who had spent several weeks in Melmond before sailing to Cornelia, knew nothing of such a disease, but said people often went missing in the night. Whatever the case, the ship wouldn’t make it to the Aldean Pass or to Melmond beyond without a new rudder. They had originally planned to make only a quick stop in Elfheim, but now it looked as if they might be stuck there until repairs could be made. 

Still, Cole and Felder hadn’t been the only members of the crew to state that they would on no account visit the elven capital. “We’ve been on this ship for days!” Kane said. “You’re not itching to get off of it? To go out and see some bit of the world? I thought that’s why people took to a life at sea?”

“This bit of the world doesn’t want to see us. They’re about as far from Safe Port as you can get without sailing off to Leviathan’s kingdom beyond,” said Felder.

Kane looked at him, but nothing in the dark-skinned pirate’s face indicated he was less than serious. “I thought Safe Port was a myth?”

“Look at the landsman over here,” Cole laughed, reaching down to pat Kane’s head. Kane swatted him away, rolling his eyes. No matter how much the pirates had taught him about sailing these past few days, or how naturally he’d taken to working the sails, he would always be a landsman, or so the pirates said.

“Elves don’t take kindly to outsiders. They’ll stab you in the back as soon as look at you,” said Felder.

“That’s not true,” Kane said. “Cornelia has always had great relations with Elfheim. We trade…” He couldn’t remember. His lessons alongside Sarah seemed a lifetime ago. “Something. I don’t know. Economics was never my best subject. But I’ve never heard anything about them being as violent as you say.”

“Well, they wouldn’t be to you, my lord. But things are different for pirates.”

“Felder!” Cole hissed.

Kane kept his eyes on the forest that separated the harbor from the capital - the lush, green barrier that gave the citizens of Elfheim the illusion that they were alone in the world - and counted silently to ten before he spoke. “I’ve asked you not to call me that. The title isn’t hereditary.”

Felder hung his head, suddenly preoccupied with a bit of fluff on his collar. “You did mention it. I’m sorry. It’s just… the way you talk sometimes, it’s plain you were raised in a castle, that’s all.”

“He didn’t mean anything by it,” said Cole.

“It’s fine,” said Kane. He heard his father calling from below, and when he looked down, the others were gathered on the deck. Lena waved up at him, smiling. “I need to go. Take care of the ship.”

“You and your lordly father just see about getting us our supplies and we will,” said Felder. “Be safe, landsman.”

* * *

_ PART II: Where Dark Mages Hide _

* * *

Lena stumbled somewhat on the road to Elfheim. After so many days at sea, she was having trouble getting used to walking on solid ground again. It had happened before, when she sailed from Onlac to Cornelia. She hoped Jack wasn’t bothered by the way she held to his arm, but then, the mage had offered it to her, as was his habit. He didn’t seem to be paying any attention to her anyway.

“No, I’m telling you, just look for a bit of aether that’s already shaped like Sleep and cast it from there,” said Refial from Jack’s other side, gesturing expansively at the invisible aether as he spoke.

Jack seemed confused, or maybe frustrated... Lena thought she was getting better at reading his subtle emotions, but she still found it difficult. He replied, “But that makes no sense. It’s just aether! It doesn’t have a shape! That’s why we have to shape it.”

“What’s this, then?”

Lena felt a flare of surprise. Jack inhaled sharply, shaking his free hand as though he’d touched something hot. “Hey!”

“Or this?” asked Refial, radiating good humor.

One of Jack’s legs buckled under him, but he caught himself and kept walking. She was sure she felt embarrassment there. “Stop that!”  he growled.

“But you saw it, right? Tell me you saw it.”

“Maybe it did somewhat resemble-” The taller mage flinched as though he’d been punched in the arm and grumbled in frustration. “Alright! Alright! Lay off!”

She ducked her head so he wouldn’t see her smile. It wasn’t that she enjoyed seeing him ruffled, but, well, it was nice to see him display any emotion at all. 

She became aware of Thad behind her, a tight, tiny bundle of discontent he was trying not to show. She remembered what the witch had said to her.  _ I shouldn’t try to fix it, _ she thought.  _ Not unless he asks. _ But his thoughts were like a burr between her shoulder blades, so hard to ignore. “Excuse me,” she said, letting go of Jack. He nodded absently to her, busy listening intently to whatever Refial was saying about the spell. The two of them walked on as she waited for the others.

None of them seemed to be having any trouble adjusting to being on land again. Thad and Kane walked ahead of Redden and Orin, Kane once more in the red armor he hadn’t worn aboard the ship. Thadius might have wobbled a bit as he walked, but that was nothing compared to how Lena felt. She fell into step beside him, asking, “Are you alright, Thadius? You seem down.” 

The boy shrugged. “I just don’t see why  _ he _ had to come with us.”

Kane grunted agreement. There was no need to specify which “he” Thadius meant. Ahead of them, Refial gestured, and Jack protested as the spell hit him again. Despite Jack’s obvious irritation, Thad was jealous.

As she considered what she might say to the boy, Kane asked, “What are those two doing?” 

“It’s a variation of Sleep,” Lena said. “I understand it causes a sort of pins-and-needles sensation, but it’s harmless.” 

Kane watched them argue for a time, then muttered, “Gods, Lena, you weren’t kidding. They’re just alike.” 

“I told you,” she said. 

At first glance, they had nothing in common. The flamboyant pirate, whose wardrobe filled a massive trunk in the ship’s hold, was dressed today in a threadbare, ruffled shirt of a color that could only be described as exceedingly yellow. He liked nothing more than to hear himself speak, and flirted with Lena shamelessly despite having nearly ten years on her. Jack, on the other hand, always wore the same coat no matter the weather, and only spoke when he really had something to say. 

Despite their differences though, the two were indeed a matched set. She was “my lady” to both of them, for they both had that funny, formal way of speaking, taking good manners to the extreme, and they shared a tendency to resort to sarcasm when those manners failed. Most of all, though, they could both see the aether. It was all they’d talked about these past four days: seeing the aether made someone a black mage, and Refial could see it. He’d just never known that’s what he was seeing. 

Poor Thadius had been altogether forgotten. As Thad was the only one among the Warriors of Light with more than passing experience on a ship, piloting the lame vessel beside the pirate crew had kept the boy too busy to continue the magic lessons Jack had started with him. She could feel his sadness and bitterness at being left out.  

“I liked Jack better when he was shy,” Thadius said.

Kane’s amusement manifested in a handsome smile. He made a “tsk” sound in the back of his throat and said, “He’s still shy. Wait ‘til we get to town, around people he doesn’t know. He’ll clam right up.” 

He winked at Lena as he said it, perhaps waiting for her to protest, but she couldn’t disagree. Jack had spent the first two days aboard ship avoiding the pirates, despite the close quarters, and was scarcely comfortable with any of them yet. If that sahagin attack hadn’t forced him to speak to Refial, the two might be strangers still. Instead she said, “Oh, Thadius, don’t say that. Refial needs him! You know he can’t do anything but that… dratted… sleep spell.” Which was true. Not only couldn’t he seem to grasp drawing on the aether, but every spell Refial attempted reshaped itself into Sleep. Jack said it was unlike anything he’d ever heard of. 

“Dratted? Really? That’s the worst word you could think of?” said Kane.

She felt herself blushing and looked down at her sandaled feet. “It’s the worst word I could think to say out loud.”

Jack and Refial came to a stop in front of them, looking off into the trees. Jack muttered something, questioning, his hand extended toward the forest.

Refial smiled and nodded like an eager child, excitement blooming in him like a flower. “No, you’ve got it! Right there! See? Like finding a puzzle piece.”

“You’re kidding? This will never work!”

“It’s close enough! Try it.”

Jack flicked his hand toward Refial, but Lena sensed the mischief in him seconds before the pirate mage stepped fluidly out of the way. Beside her, Thadius flinched. She sensed no pain from him, but he was distinctly uncomfortable, transitioning quickly from surprise to anger. He clutched at his shoulder, spouting a string of nonsense syllables that sounded very much like Leifenish.

“Thadius Josiah Shipman! Where did you learn that?” Lord Redden asked from behind them. His tone reminded Lena of her own father’s, and she could feel Kane’s sudden anxiety at hearing it. The guardsman had taken a step behind her, perhaps unconsciously.

To his credit, Thadius knew he was in trouble. Eyes wide, he pointed deliberately at Jack.

“Jack!” Lord Redden growled.

“What? No! I didn’t teach him that!” 

“Where did he learn it then? He didn’t blaspheme in a dead language on accident!”

“I… That is…” Jack looked pleadingly at Kane, but the guardsman shook his head.

“And you!” Redden said, turning his gaze on Refial. “I saw that little dance of yours just now. Do you think magic is a toy?”

Refial flushed from his ruffled collar up to his perfect hair. “Sir, I am a grown man, and I-”

“And if you think you’re too grown up for me to make you pick your own switch, you’d better think again.”

“Grown men only require bigger switches,” Orin supplied helpfully, wrinkled face serene.

She felt Kane tugging on her sleeve, pulling her away. “We’re just going to go on ahead, sir,” he said. 

Redden waved them off. 

As they walked, Lord Redden began a lecture on “behavior unbecoming of a prophesied Warrior of Light” that made even her ears burn, but beside her, Kane seemed almost giddy. “And why are you so pleased, Kane Carmine?” she asked.

“Because I think that’s the first time I haven’t been on the receiving end of one of those tirades. When he gets a good lather up, he can go on for quite a long while.” 

She laughed.  _ No wonder he turned out so well. Redden must have put the fear of Leviathan in him. Or the fear of Bahamut, I suppose.  _ “Kane?”

“Hmm?”

“I do believe your father was enjoying himself just now.”

He chuckled. “I don’t doubt it.”

She linked her arm through his, a small gesture that seemed natural after so many days in Jack’s company, but Kane was surprised by it. He filled with a sudden warmth like a sunbeam, but the feeling withered quickly. 

“Are you thinking of the princess?” she asked.

She felt his arm tense beneath her hand. “I hadn’t heard that soul readers could read thoughts as well.”

She shook her head. “Only a guess. You’re thinking of someone you love, and you’re sad that I’m not her. You weren’t thinking about this person before I took your arm, so it must be someone who often walks about with you.”

He looked down at her with his eyebrows raised then quickly focused on the road ahead. “Well,” he said. “That’s…” He cleared his throat. “That’s a good guess.” 

She sensed embarrassment, and wondered why, but then her words came back to her:  _ You’re thinking of someone you love… _ She really needed to learn to think before she said things like that.  _ How shocking it must be to hear someone else say the things we haven’t admitted to ourselves. _ By way of changing the subject, she asked, “Was there anything in particular you were hoping to find in Elfheim?” She felt his relief at the new topic before she had even finished the question.

“No, not really, I just wanted to see it. I know Father plans to ask around to see if anyone has any news of Melmond. I thought I could help with that. And you? I understand you and the black mages have elaborate plans?”

“We’re only picking up some potion supplies, and perhaps a few basic tools for Refial, but I suppose with him around, even that could be elaborate.”

As though summoned by the mention of his name, Refial came up behind them, footsteps pounding as he ran to catch up. “My lady!” he said, bowing low. “Is this gentleman bothering you?”

She couldn’t help laughing at how Kane rolled his eyes.        

* * *

_ Perhaps I should have gone with Kane, _ Jack thought, walking a few paces behind Refial and Lena. The two of them talked like dear old friends as Refial pointed out the various architectural features around them. Well, Refial talked, at any rate. Lena smiled and nodded, looking wherever the pirate pointed. Jack didn’t know the first thing about architecture, but Refial was either an expert or an excellent liar.

Elfheim was beautiful, like a garden in the middle of the forest, with shops and homes set among the trees as if they had sprouted there like mushrooms after a rain. The elves, a tall people with pointed ears and pointed chins, who claimed they were descended from the great goddess Asura herself, were polite if distant, but Jack couldn’t help but feel that everyone was looking at him. It was an old discomfort that never entirely went away, particularly uncalled for at the moment: unlike in Cornelia, here in Elfheim they had already encountered several people dressed in black mage robes. No one gave Jack a second glance. In fact, with Refial there, Jack was practically invisible. The man warmly greeted every elf they passed, his shirt so unabashedly yellow that people stared in apparent disbelief. Jack saw nothing like that color among the locals; earth tones, he observed, were very fashionable among the people of Elfheim right now.

Invisible as he metaphorically was, he wondered if Lena would notice if he left. He looked up the street the way they came, wondering if he could still see the tavern Kane had pointed out before they separated, but all the buildings here looked alike to him, regardless of how Refial went on and on. 

When he turned back, Lena was beside him, smiling quietly as if waiting for him to notice her. There was no sign of the yellow-clad pirate. “What happened to Refial?” he asked.

“In that shop. Asking for directions.” She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and led him ever so slowly toward the shop she’d indicated, as though she were reluctant to reach it. “If you don’t rescue me from his endless chatter, I believe I’m going to scream.”

“Oh?” Jack said, studying her face in an effort to determine if she was joking. Her smile did seem a bit forced. His own was suddenly genuine, though she couldn’t see it behind his scarf. “Are you not enjoying his company, my lady? I understand dashing pirates feature prominently in several of the more popular festival plays,” he teased.

“None of the ones I prefer.” She blushed at the admission then went on, “Jack, I can’t handle all his empty prattle with so many people around. There’s something odd going on here. The elves look happy, but they’re not. They’re suspicious and worried and they keep staring at me.”

“I thought…” He looked around, at the people passing them in the street, going about their daily business. She was right: Lena was the one garnering the disbelieving stares he had at first assumed were being aimed at Refial. “I can take you back to the ship.” 

Lena shook her head. “They don’t want to hurt me. They just don’t know why I’m here. It’s as if they’ve never seen a white mage before.” 

“Perhaps they haven’t,” Jack said. “Most elves can feel the aether, but very few ever develop the talents of a mage. I don’t think they even call them mages here.” 

“That must be what it is.” She sighed. “Still, there are a lot of people.”

_ And she can feel every one of them, _ he thought. Trading twenty-odd people on a good sized ship for hundreds of people on a crowded city street? He patted her hand on his arm, unable to imagine what that must be like for her. 

The shop door opened, and Refial backed out of it, leaning in to have one last word with the shopkeeper as he left, laughing as if he’d known the man for years. The pirate turned, spying them there, and glanced quickly between the two of them with exaggerated dismay. “My darling dove! I turn my back on you for five minutes and I find you on the arm of another man!”

“Says rather a lot about your company, don’t you think?” Jack quipped. Refial laughed uproariously at that.

It was some time before they found the black magic shop they were looking for. Refial’s directions were accurate, but the shop in question was set off from the main streets, behind several other buildings and more than a few trees. Smaller than the other shops they’d seen, with only a few small windows, it was dim as Jack followed Refial inside, pulling Lena along with him. Shelves lined the walls, full of boxes, bottles, and books, but the entire room seemed perfectly organized, with not scrap of paper out of place or a speck of dust to be seen. 

The only thing that did seem out of place was the female soldier perched on the shop counter, chatting with the mage woman who worked behind it. The soldier wore brown leather armor over a green uniform, a sword belt resting on the counter beside her. Her blond hair was cropped short like a boy’s, but her elven features were delicate, a small pointed nose over thin, pink lips. The other woman appeared to be her twin, though her hair was longer and hung down over an unadorned black robe. 

As the door closed behind Jack and Lena, the armored woman quickly slid down from the counter, cutting short whatever she’d been saying to her companion.

“My lady!” Refial said, stepping forward to bow to her. “And my lady!” he said to the other. “A fine good morning to you both! I never expected to find such loveliness in such an out of the way shop!” He proceeded to shower the young women with compliments. The soldier arched an eyebrow at the attention, but the mage blushed prettily. 

“Your suitor seems to have forgotten you,” Jack murmured to Lena.

“So quickly cast aside!” she said, though her eyes clearly showed her amusement. “I never realized ‘lady’ was a title so easily attained.”

He chuckled. “Not so easily as all that. I’ll have no other lady but you.” There was a moment, only a small moment, before his mind caught up with his mouth and the horror sank in.  _ Holy Ramuh, what did I just say?  _ He looked at a shelf of books on the other side of the room, sure she could feel his mortification. 

Refial filled the silence. “...looking to expand my horizons, you know how it is. Make a serious go of this black magic business. And you, darling? How long have you been running this most excellent shop?”

The mage woman giggled as she answered him.

_ How does he speak to them so easily? _ Jack thought, not for the first time. Here he’d said only a handful of words and he wanted the world to open up and swallow him.

“Excuse me, miss?” the soldier said. She’d approached while Jack had been distracted, and stood before Lena now, with her sword and belt bundled together in her hand. “Are you a devout?”

Lena seemed confused. 

“I believe that’s what they call white mages,” Jack said, helpfully.

“Oh! Then, yes, I suppose I am,” said Lena. “Is that alright?”

“Very. I...” She looked back, but her sister - it had to be her sister - seemed enthralled with Refial. “I have need of a healer. A skilled one. It’s a matter of life and death. Can you help?”

“Of course!” Lena said. “I had noticed there didn’t seem to be many white mages - excuse me, devouts - around town.” Lena regarded the soldier appraisingly. “You have no need of a healer yourself. Is it for a family member?”

“No, not any relation of mine, but it is someone I… someone many people consider dear. There would be considerable reward in it for you.”

_ White mages don’t care about rewards,  _ Jack thought. Something about the woman’s request didn’t sit well with him. “If this person is so dear, why have your own devouts not taken care of him?” he asked. Lena’s fingers twitched against his arm, as though she didn’t approve of the question, but he didn’t care.

The woman’s eyes darted about, making Jack all the more suspicious. “They’ve tried. None have succeeded.”

“Can I ask the nature of the ailment?” Lena said, her voice smaller than it had been before, gentler.

The woman hesitated, and when she spoke, her voice was tight. “I cannot say.” 

“Perhaps I could speak to one of the other devouts?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” The woman wouldn’t even look at them now, staring at her feet as she spoke. “There is some… some risk involved, but I swear to you, miss, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. There are others who will do the same. You’ll be in no danger if I can help it.”

“The other devouts,” Jack said. “What happened to them?” Lena moved closer to his side, but said nothing.   

The woman repeated, “I cannot say.” 

“Then we cannot help you.” He took a step toward Refial, still oblivious at the counter, but was brought up short by the weight of Lena on his arm, for she made no move to follow him.

“Would you excuse us for a moment, please?” Lena said to the woman, then, raising her voice, said, “Refial, we’ll be outside.” The pirate waved vaguely, caught up in his conversation. Jack let her pull him along through the door out into the street again leaving Refial and the two women in the shop. There were fewer people in this part of town, and the shop was in an alcove set back from the small street, but still those few people who did pass by stared curiously at them - or rather, at Lena - as they went.

“I’m going to help that woman,” she said, facing him down with those wide, green eyes, her arms crossed as if she expected an argument. She trembled, though, and the sight of it made Jack feel like an ogre for making her confront him at all. 

He kept his body turned at an angle so he wouldn’t seem to loom over her so much; even with her back defiantly straight, she didn’t reach his shoulders. He took a deep breath, focused on keeping his voice level, and said, “My lady, did I miss something? I don’t have to be a soul reader to know that there was something suspicious going on in there.”

“You didn’t feel what I felt.” Lena started to say more, but seemed to have trouble finding the words. Her shoulders slumped as she looked away. “She was telling the truth. I don’t only feel emotions. I can tell when someone is lying.” She fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable to reveal this to him, unaware that the witch had told him already. 

“Why should that matter to me?” he asked.

She sighed, flashing him a thankful smile. “People wear lies like masks sometimes. They don’t like to know I can see past all that. I’ve… I’ve lost more than a few friendships over it.” She twirled a strand of her hair idly, still not looking at him. “Please, don’t tell the others.”

“I won’t,” he said. “But just because someone’s telling the truth doesn’t mean they’re not hiding something,” Jack said, thinking silently,  _ I should know.  _ From his own past to his suspicions of Lena’s black magic abilities, the list of secrets he wasn’t telling her seemed to grow longer by the day. 

“That’s just it. She  _ wanted _ to tell us. I could feel it. When she said she couldn’t say, she meant it. Something was preventing her, some oath or spell, I don’t know. But she was telling the truth: someone needs a healer, desperately. A matter of life and death, she said.” 

“My lady,” he said, but his tone was too strong, too argumentative.

She cut him off with a sharp, “Jack.” 

He tried again, gentler this time, “Lena...” The use of her name seemed to startle her into listening. “She also said there were risks, risks which she declined to disclose. You already have the fate of the world on your shoulders, remember? You’re a Warrior of Light!”

“And why is that, do you suppose?” She spoke calmly, but firmly. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot since Pravoka. Why would the gods choose a Warrior who can’t fight? Do you think they expected me to follow you boys around so you’d have something to protect? Or do you think maybe they chose a white mage because I’m destined to heal somebody?” She turned back toward the shop door, not even looking to see if he followed.

He said a phrase that would have earned him another lecture from Lord Redden, then went in after her, wondering how he would tell her that the gods may not have chosen a white mage after all.    

* * *

It was easily the nicest tavern Thad had ever seen, but he tried not to appear impressed. That was one way to set yourself up as an easy mark - to look like you didn’t belong - but it was hard when there was so much to see here. The elves had had only one material to work with in abundance here in this forest, and they had taken it to the extreme. The floors, the tables, the bartop: all were of a dark wood, polished until it gleamed like mirrors. The exposed beams of the ceiling were covered, every inch of them, in elaborate carvings of elvish history. Even the mug and plate in front of him were made of wood.

Still, it was only a tavern, Thad told himself, and all taverns were alike. There was the sad man at the bar drinking some grief away, there were the serving girls who thought he was a cute little boy and who could probably be talked out of an extra helping from the kitchen, and there were the men in the corner playing a card game very like Over Onion Knight but with different suits than he was used to. Of course, he couldn’t stop staring at the live tree growing up through the tavern’s center, leafing out through a hole in the roof. No matter how often he tried to ignore it, his eyes kept wandering back.  

“It’s really growing there,” Kane said for at least the third time, his voice hushed with awe.

“Yup,” Thad said, watching a bird flit about the uppermost branches.

“Stop staring, you two,” Redden said. “You’re only attracting attention.” 

Thad glanced about. The people of Elfheim, who weren’t keen on visitors, were far too polite to stare, but Thad noticed the way their eyes flicked disapprovingly at their table. He sighed and lowered his gaze to his plate, which was empty, the lunch of roast vegetables already eaten. There had been a bread roll too, crisp on the outside, light and fluffy inside, all gone now. “How much longer is this going to take?” he asked, trying very hard not to whine. 

Orin, who never did eat much and had spent the past hour sipping a small cup of tea, reached across the table to place his own uneaten roll on Thad’s plate. “Cultivate your patience, young master Shipman. One cannot rush time on to suit oneself.”

“Matoya could,” Thad pointed out before stuffing half the roll into his mouth. 

“And when you have lived as long as the witch Matoya, you will have earned the right.” The monk smiled, and when Orin smiled his eyes always scrunched up small in his wrinkled face, making them look as if they were closed. “But it seems our waiting has paid off.” He nodded toward the bar, where a man who had just come in was speaking to the barkeep. The barkeep pointed at Lord Redden, and the man came toward them.

Redden had said they were waiting for a half-elven man, the bastard son of a former Cornelian ambassador whose relations with an elven peasant had caused a scandal on both sides of the Aldean Sea. This man certainly looked half-elven: he had the height of an elf, being perhaps a hair taller than Jack, and he had the pointed ears, but not the pointed face. His chin was wide, set in a square jaw. “You the man asking after Melmond?” he asked.

“I am,” Redden said, gesturing to the empty chair beside him at the end of the table.

The half-elf waved to a serving girl as he sat down. “Whatever they’re having,” he told her. When she’d gone again, he waited, raising an eyebrow at Redden, until the bard retrieved a small coin pouch from his bag and set it on the table with a clink. The half-elf pocketed it, nodded and said, “First thing I can tell you is the Rot has returned.”

“You’re sure?” said Redden.

The man nodded. “Worse than ever. It’s even crossed the Mondmer. North and west of here, several of the groves have turned to swamp. The king’s worried it’ll reach Elfheim proper.”

Thad knew the Mondmer was the wide gulf between the Aldean Pass and the city of Melmond. “What’s the Rot?” he whispered to Kane.

“Some kind of blight. It hit Melmond hard more than twenty years ago, killed the crops. People starved,” Kane said quickly, seeming in a hurry to turn his attention back to Redden and the half-elf. 

Redden asked a question then, but Thad didn’t hear it, distracted by the men playing cards in the corner, exclaiming loudly over some unlikely hand. One of the men laughed as another swept a pile of coins toward him, the winnings. A third threw his cards on the table with a derisive snort. 

He heard the half-elf mention plague, and focused once more on his own table. “...speculations that it’s just the Rot, but spreading to people now.” He stopped when the serving girl brought out another plate of roasted vegetables and a mug of the same wine Redden had had with his own meal. 

Redden waited for the girl to walk away before he asked, “What do the white mages say?”

“Precious little, I’m afraid. Seems they were the first to succumb to it. One of my father’s servants tells me he had a letter from Lord Leiden begging him to send a few from Elfheim, but we had none to spare.”   

“What of the Devouts at the temple of Asura?” said Redden. “I once heard a priest at White Hall speak very highly of their skill.”

“Gone,” said the half-elf, taking a few bites of the roasted vegetables.

“Gone?” said Redden. “Gone where?” 

“I cannot say. The official word is that they are still alive, but there are… rumors…” The man shrugged. “I haven’t seen one in more than four years.”

“What else do these rumors say?”

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you.” The half-elf raised his mug, as though making some sort of toast, and downed most of it in one long drink. “I assume you are familiar with the Divine Right of Kings we adhere to in this kingdom? Even a half-breed like myself is not immune from its effects.”

“I believe I catch your meaning, sir,” Redden said, looking grave.

“Very good.” The man took one last bite of the food on his plate, then pushed back from the table. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure,” he said, pressing the fingers of one hand to his forehead in a sort of informal bow before walking away.

Thad reached across Kane for the half-elf’s abandoned plate, tucking in with relish. Kane, he noticed, went for the remains of the man’s wine. “That was a waste of coin,” Kane said. “What good is a source who doesn’t know anything?”

“He didn’t say he didn’t know anything. He said he couldn’t tell us,” said Redden, drumming his fingers on the table. 

“What difference does that make?” 

“The Divine Right of Kings. You heard him mention it? All elves are bound by blood to obey their king. It’s a powerful spell.” Redden seemed cross - not like he had been when he yelled at Thad, Jack, and Refial on the road to Elfheim, but a quieter anger, the kind that boiled beneath the surface, the kind of anger Thad had seen too often in his own father before Pappy had come for him. It meant someone was due for a beating. “When he said he couldn’t tell us anything, it was because the king has ordered his people not to speak of it.” He stood and walked away, leaving the rest of them at the table as he waved to a serving girl to settle the bill.

Thad hurried to finish the vegetables since it seemed they were about to leave, but he considered Redden’s words. He replayed the conversation in his mind, trying to remember what the half-elf had been talking about when he wasn’t talking about it. “What was that man saying about the white mages?” he asked.

Kane suddenly choked on the wine, slamming the cup down hard on the tabletop. “Confound it!” he said, running for the door. 

“Wait!” Thad called after him. He looked across the table at Orin, who continued to sip from his small teacup as though nothing had happened.

“Let him go, young master Shipman. We will follow in short order,” said the monk. 

“But where was he going?” Thad asked. 

“To find Lena.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _7/29/16: Welcome back, readers! It’s been a busy summer. Not only did I work my librarian mojo on the summer reading program (only one week to go!), but I’ve “finished” writing part ii of this story (as soon as my librarian friend helps me edit it). I’ve worked really hard on it and can’t wait for you guys to read it!_   
>  _I had a little trouble figuring out what my heroes were doing in Elfheim. If you’ve played the game and you know how the plot rolls out, you’re aware that there is literally no reason to go to Elfheim except that you can’t go anywhere else. In the game, the pass out of the Aldean Sea is blocked and only by completing the Elfheim side-quest can you get the item you need to unblock it. How does one work a side-quest into a narrative in a believable way? It was a puzzle._   
>  _This little side-quest takes up the next ten chapters, which will be posting on time, every Friday, for the next ten weeks guaranteed (yay!). After that, I make no promises._


	21. The Evil Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: The Evil Within from Final Fantasy IX. Click[here](https://youtu.be/F3r2FQ5usH4) for the original or [here](https://youtu.be/ue6b-CtRi8I) for a neato synth version._

When it became obvious that Segeth, the soldier girl, was leading them to Elfheim Castle, Lena finally realized what Jack was reminding her of. Her uncle’s father, Tyron, had had a cat once, a skittish and elderly creature that would fluff up its fur and sit hissing in the corner when anyone other than Tyron came near it. Beside her, Jack felt just as that cat always had, tense and poised to flee if anyone looked at them wrong. She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, but couldn’t look at him now - seeing the cracks in his soul made her decidedly uncomfortable.

She had experienced the emotions of the elves she passed as she walked through Elfheim that morning, but it was different now, with her soul sight active. She had thought to use it to scan the crowded streets for possible threats, but instead her heightened senses only made her more aware of the isolationist elves’ suspicion of humans. A few were only curious, but the majority regarded her and her friends with wary distrust, though they showed no outward sign of it.  _ “They’d smile and beg your pardon as they stabbed you,” _ one of the pirates had told her before she’d left the ship.  _ They really might, _ she thought, passing an elven couple who nodded warmly in greeting, though the woman feared them and the man hated them on sight.

“My lady,” Jack whispered, and she realized she was clutching his arm too tightly. She hurried to relax her grip. 

Refial walked behind them, oblivious to the fact that the elves who returned his friendly greetings did not reciprocate his attitude. Elleth, Segeth’s sister, walked beside him. The girls were twins, Segeth had said, but Lena had trouble seeing the resemblance - their souls were as different as night and day. Elleth’s soul was bright purple, strong and independant, with a stubbornness that would lend itself well to running one’s own shop. Segeth’s soul, on the other hand, was a vibrant yellow, loyal and brave, but not commanding, the sort to follow orders and do it well. Twins or not, Elleth was the “older” sister in the plainest sense of the word.  

“What a picture we must be,” Refial said, as they stopped at the castle gates while Segeth had a hushed conversation with the guards on duty. “Four little black mages out for a spring stroll. Might I say again how fetching you girls look in your robes?”

Lena noticed Elleth’s amusement. The elf mage, holding to Refial’s arm and taller than him by an inch, was not at all taken in by his flattery but Lena sensed she was enjoying it all the same. As her sister finished speaking to the guards and waved them all forward, she said, “The black really does look well on you, miss Lena. And much safer to be seen in.”

Safer, perhaps, but not ideal. The black robe Elleth had insisted Lena wear was not only over-warm, since she still had her white one underneath, but it seemed uncomfortably like lying to wander the streets in disguise. However, it was true that no elf had looked twice at her in the black robe, even if it was several inches too long for her. 

Lena felt Jack’s emotions bridle again at the mention of her safety, his broken soul rippling on the edge of her vision. “If this was Cornelia, we’d likely be beaten in the streets,” he muttered.

“Very likely,” said Elleth with a laugh. “But no one cares about black mages in Elfheim. Most of elf-kind can feel the aether, you know. No one’s impressed that we can see it too.”

“Do you get many Cornelian black mages here? I’ve always wondered where they go when they leave the city,” Lena said.

“We don’t get many Cornelian anything,” said Segeth. “Elfheim doesn’t encourage visitors.” She led them through the castle yard, around towards a servants’ entrance on one side. The smells of baking bread told Lena they were near the kitchens, but once inside the castle they passed through a wide corridor, leaving the kitchen area behind.

At the end of the corridor, Segeth said, “Wait here,” and knocked on a closed door, not waiting for a response before she went in, calling for someone. It sounded like she might have said  “grandfather”.  _ Maybe that’s why she was so anxious for a healer, _ Lena thought, but after a short conversation muffled by the door, the old man who emerged to meet them seemed healthy, his soul a rich shade somewhere between a blue and a purple.

He, too, wore the traditional robes of a black mage, with a hat like Jack’s, only blue. He smiled toward Elleth, who gave a little wave of greeting, then turned his full attention on Lena. “You are a white mage?” he asked. 

He seemed just as tense and worried as Jack did, and the emotions of the two men together made it suddenly difficult to speak. She nodded.

“Come in, please,” he said, pushing the door wide and beckoning them into a spacious chamber that reminded Lena of the library at Black Hall, but as neat and organized as Elleth’s shop had been. A set of large cabinets extended the length of the back wall, orderly bookshelves above glass-fronted cupboards bearing labels in Leifenish calligraphy. The wall to the left of the door held a fireplace, currently unlit, and to the right a wide window, beneath which, on a table, a tidy pile of books was the only sign that the spotless study ever saw any use.

She felt Jack change when they entered the room, his tension evaporating. With her soul sight engaged, his normally closed-off emotions were so easy to read. She could feel his curiosity, his desire to wander over to those shelves and explore their contents, and she could feel how hard he fought against that desire. She almost had to drag him along when the old man gestured them toward a collection of six carved wooden chairs near the fireplace. At her insistent tug on his elbow, Jack’s mood snapped back toward the worry he’d felt before. 

The old man sat in one of the chairs and Elleth sat to his right, though Segeth opted to stand just behind him on his left side, the stance of a soldier poised for action. Refial chose a chair across from them, and Lena chose another, leaving one empty between them for Jack, but instead the black mage moved to stand behind her, mirroring Segeth’s stance. 

The chairs were higher than she was used to, made to accommodate elvish height - she had to stand on her toes to slide into it, and once seated, found her feet didn’t reach the floor. The old man smiled as she took her seat, some of his anxiety fading at last. “My name is Gollor. Segeth tells me you are called Lena?”

She nodded, clearing her throat to say, “And this is Jack. That’s Refial.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Refial, though Jack remained silent.

“Likewise,” said Gollor. “I don’t know how much my granddaughters told you...”

“Nothing,” said Jack, annoyed.

She winced at his tone, but the old man nodded. “Only to be expected. The king has ordered no word of our plight to be spoken outside of the castle, but since you are here, I will try to be brief. I was once the personal tutor to Prince Aryon, and I am now in charge of his care.” Gollor bowed his head, and Lena felt the weight of his sadness. “It is the prince who needs your help.”

“The prince?” said Refial. “Like an actual royal prince?”

“Yes,” said Gollor. “Five years ago, the prince fell into a deep sleep from which he could not be roused. Our devouts found that it was caused by a curse, but none have been able to break it.”

Lena said, “I’m afraid my experience with curses is limited.”

The old man raised a hand, forestalling her protest. “No, miss. We do not expect you to succeed where our own devouts have failed. But I fear that this long sleep has had a deleterious effect on the prince’s body. Our devouts are having trouble keeping him alive.”

Behind her, Jack’s worry ebbed somewhat. He squeezed her shoulder with one hand and said, “So you still have your devouts after all. The way your granddaughter talked, I worried they’d all met an untimely end.”

Lena laughed a little, reaching up to pat his hand, but then she felt Gollor’s discomfort. His granddaughters eyed each other over his head, feeling guilty, looking ashamed. 

Gollor sighed, “Some of them have.” He leaned forward, looking intently at her. “I have no intention to deceive you, but I cannot go into detail. Suffice it to say that this curse weighs heavily on the mind of the king. He occasionally grows… suspicious… of the devouts who care for his son. Sometimes, he orders them imprisoned. Other times, he has them put to death.”

“You don’t need to worry about that, miss,” said Segeth, hastily. “The king need never know you’re here.” 

Lena shook her head, pinching the black robe she wore over her white hooded one. “Surely he knows I’m here already? I think every citizen of Elfheim saw me walk through town.”

Gollor waved off her concern. “No one would be able to report such a thing. Access to the king is extremely limited. He rules from his tower with an army of servants to attend on him. Most days, he has very little contact with the outside world.” The old man clasped his hands together as though begging. “One healing. That’s all we ask. Just enough to restore prince Aryon’s health for the time being.”

Lena nodded as though thinking it over, but she realized she had already made up her mind. She had come here determined to heal this person, even before she knew it was the prince. She suspected Jack, too, knew what her answer would be; he stood close behind her, his gloved hand still on her shoulder, and the only emotion she felt from him was resignation. “Alright,” she said. 

“Thank you, miss!” Segeth said. “Oh, thank you. It means so much to us.”

Gollor stood. “Elleth, make sure the path between here and Aryon’s room is clear. Segeth, ask the other guards to inform us if the king leaves his tower.” 

“Is it only the king?” Jack asked as the two girls left. “Is that the only danger here?”

“I cannot promise you that. We do not know where the curse came from, after all. But if we move quickly, I assure you, the risk is minimal.”

Elleth returned a few minutes later. “The halls are empty,” she said. Gollor nodded, motioning for Lena to go with her.

She moved to do so, noticing that Jack and Refial were poised to follow, Refial’s soul a dull, burnt orange that only made Jack’s seem brighter by comparison, a distraction she didn't need. “Stay,” she said. “Please. Just wait here for me.”

Refial sat again immediately, not needing to be told twice. She didn’t wait for Jack’s reply.

Elleth led her up a flight of stairs to a wing that seemed unnaturally quiet. The elf moved silently, but every step of Lena’s sandaled feet on the stone floor seemed to echo up and down the hallway, making her feel exposed.  _ It’s just my own paranoia, _ she thought. There was no sign of anyone else nearby, neither sight nor sound. 

Elleth stopped before one plain wooden door, opening it slowly, and the squeak of its hinges screamed in the silence. Lena felt sure guards would come running in response, but still nothing moved. “Would you like me to come in with you?” Elleth asked.

“No,” she said, looking past her into the room. A large window, its curtains not entirely closed, threw a beam of light toward her, like a beacon guiding her forward. “I can do this part on my own.” 

Elleth bowed her head in acknowledgment. When Lena stepped inside, the elf closed the door behind her.

The bed at the room’s center was not large, but it seemed to dwarf the man in it. Dressed in a light, plain cotton tunic, he lay on top of the sheets, with the blankets folded down to the foot of the bed in deference to the day’s mild warmth. Neither blankets nor sheets were the least bit rumpled, as though the sleeper hadn’t moved an inch since his slumber began. Someone had kept both the prince and the room clean, and Lena respected the amount of care that had gone into his keeping, but he was eerily still, wan and thin, with only the steady rise and fall of his breath to show that he was still alive.

His soul was the pale green of a fresh-sprouted seedling, the palest soul she’d ever seen. She wondered if that was a consequence of the curse or if that was his aura’s natural color.  _ One healing _ _,_ she thought, moving closer, considering how best to begin. 

It wasn’t until she placed her hands on his chest, extending her power into him, that she found the curse. Her breath caught as her power brushed against it, for it stung like a scraped knee after a fall.  _ Not that way, _ she thought, shifting her focus around to come at the healing from another angle, but the curse seemed to follow her, like a flower moving to face the sun. For a heartbeat, she almost thought there was something tangible there, but it faded when she focused her attention on it.

_ A soul reading, then. _ What could hide from soul sight couldn’t hide from a soul reading. She’d always thought of her soul sight as coming from her eyes - it was something she  _ saw _ _,_ and she had never learned to do it with her eyes closed - but a reading was different: it was something she  _ felt, _ and the ability seemed to her to come from a place inside, down beneath her heart, a closed fist that she could relax and allow to open. 

She opened that place now, reaching out from it toward the man in front of her. Placing her hands on either side of the prince’s face, she closed her own eyes, and tried to see that place beyond seeing. It was more difficult to read a sleeping person; the eyes were the quickest path to the soul, but not the only one. It was like gazing into a dark room, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light.  

What she found was more darkness: the curse wound around and through the prince’s soul like a creeper vine, an angry, brown sludge that seemed to drown the green of his aura.  _ Sweet Leviathan, be with me now _ _,_ she prayed. 

This was going to take more than one healing.

* * *

“This will never work,” said Kane. He stood with Orin and Shipman as, ahead of them, his father spoke cordially to the guards at the castle gates. Kane had been on gate duty plenty of times in his short career. He knew how it worked. No amount of sweet-talking would get them inside.

“Have faith, young master Carmine,” said Orin.

His father told the guard, “Thank you. I’m sorry for the trouble,” and walked back toward them. One of the guards stepped into the gatehouse, emerging moments later with another who walked briskly toward the castle, a messenger of some sort announcing their arrival. “And now we wait,” Lord Redden said, a satisfied smile on his face.

“How did you do that?” Kane asked.

“I’m the court bard, son. Talking to people is what I do.”

It was yet another thing Kane hadn’t inherited from the man: his father’s talent for manipulating conversations. They’d spent the past hour crossing Elfheim, with Redden stopping every now and again to ask after their companions. His methods seemed random: here he spoke to a shopkeeper and there a street urchin, asking sometimes if they had seen a tall black mage and other times if they had seen a thin man in a yellow shirt, but Kane had picked up on the fact that his father never once asked after a white mage, as if not wanting to draw attention to her presence in the city. Several of the people he questioned, however, had mentioned seeing her.

Soon, the messenger guard returned, accompanied by a liveried servant, a tall elf maid who curtsied before them. “Master Gollor will receive you. This way, my lords.”

She led them through the castle yard, but not toward the grand front doors, where more guards stood vigil. They followed a path that led around the side of the building, towards a service entrance.  _ Back home, this path would have led to the training yard,  _ Kane thought. There were other differences: where Cornelia castle was built of a blue-gray stone, Elfheim’s castle was white, and the stone glittered in places. The windows were wider, the towers higher, but still, Kane was struck by how similar this castle was to what he had known all his life, the sights and sounds very much the same. 

The smells, too. As they passed the kitchens, Shipman turned that direction, seemingly drawn toward the scent of the unfamiliar elvish spices that wafted out into the hall, but Kane placed a hand on top of the boy’s head and steered him away. 

In short order, they came to a quiet corridor, well-kept but unadorned, the sort of quarters that might be given to a state official, someone a step above a servant but below nobility.  _ More and more like home, _ Kane thought. The servant they followed opened a door for them, standing aside to let them pass. 

It was some manner of study - a mage’s study, if the jars and bottles in the cupboards were any indication - and the old man who stood to greet them seemed to be the owner. He wore a hat even more ridiculous than Jack’s, dyed blue and with a pattern of stars tooled into the leather, and a mage’s formal robes, frayed and fading at the hems but otherwise of exceptional quality. This was a man who had once been favored by the crown but had, perhaps, been forgotten in recent years. “Some refreshment, please, Gail,” he said to the servant girl, who bowed and left.

Jack and Refial were there too, standing among a circle of chairs near the hearth - unlit, despite the draftiness of the room - but Lena was conspicuously absent. As his father made polite introductions to the old man, who said his name was Gollor, Kane approached his friends. 

“How did you know we were here?” Jack asked.

Kane gave him a withering look, jerking his thumb toward Refial. “That shirt wasn’t tough to track. What in Bahamut’s name are you doing at the castle of all places? And where’s Lena? Don’t tell me you’ve lost her again. I thought for sure Refial at least would keep a tighter grip.” 

Jack glared. “He did, right up until another woman smiled at him.”

“I beg your pardon!” Refial said, seeming taken aback by the mage’s icy tone.

“We haven’t lost her,” Jack continued. “She’s off doing a healing.”

“Of course she is,” Kane sighed, trying not to roll his eyes. “Listen, we learned there’s some danger to white mages here. We need to get her back to the ship before she walks right into it.” 

Jack and Refial shared a guilty look. “That’s not going to work out,” Refial said. 

“Are you kidding me?” Kane hissed. 

“Boys,” Redden said sharply. “Quiet.” He turned back to Gollor. “You say she’s free to leave as soon as this healing is done?”

“Of course,” Gollor replied. 

The servant girl returned some moments later, leaving a tray on the table at the other end of the room. The older men ignored it, continuing their conversation, but Shipman and Refial immediately went for the food. Kane wanted to hear what Gollor had to say, but he was growing hungry again already - the lunch of roasted vegetables had not gone far. 

The tray contained a pot of tea, several cups, and a plate of fruit and cheese, nothing that looked particularly filling, though the tea at least was hot, a welcome distraction from the unpleasant coolness in this room. He poured some for himself and grabbed a bit of the cheese, taking a place by the door where he could lean against the wall, close enough to hear his father’s questions but not so close as to be in the way. Jack stood quietly beside him.

“The devouts have done all they can for him,” Gollor said. 

“But if they can’t heal the prince, why keep them in the castle? What good does that do anyone?” Redden asked. 

“I cannot say,” said Gollor, his face pinched in obvious frustration. 

His father seemed to take it in stride, inquiring instead about some other aspect of the curse, a technical white magic question Kane didn’t understand, but Gollor’s evasive answers bothered him. “It’s that Divine Right of Kings mess again,” he muttered. 

“Divine what?” Jack asked. 

“Father says it’s some kind of spell that forces the elves to obey their king. He thinks the king has ordered them not to speak about the situation here.” Now that he knew more details, it made sense.  _ If their enemies knew how poorly the prince was faring, they’d find some way to use it against them,  _ he thought. 

A chill ran up his spine; it was so cold in this room.  _ And it was such a warm morning _ _._ _ That’s spring for you.  _ He considered going back for more tea, but when he glanced toward the table, he noticed Jack silently staring at the older men. “What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

The scarf covering Jack’s face shifted slightly, as though his mouth moved but no words came out. Finally, he said, “She knew. She said they wanted to tell us more, but they couldn’t.” He rubbed his temples with one hand, as though his head ached. “I should never have let her agree to this.”

There were a number of things Kane could have said in response to that, none of them flattering, but he held his tongue. Jack was shaken, and though he hadn’t known the mage for long, he knew Jack was a hard man to shake. Instead, he said, “She doesn’t seem to be in the habit of asking anyone’s permission.” 

As he spoke, his words came out in a fog of breath. _ Not just cold, _ he realized.  _ Freezing. _

“What…” Kane began to say, but that was as far as he got. 

The older men’s conversation cut off abruptly, whatever they’d been saying forgotten as both Redden and Gollor turned to face him - or rather, Jack. The mage still stood at the wall beside him, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Jack said to Gollor, his voice just as quiet and level as it had ever been. “When you told us how the king had turned against his own white mages, had ordered them imprisoned, even executed… Why didn’t you think to tell us that no elf in the entire kingdom could oppose such an order?” As he stared at the old man, his eyes glowed white as a rime of frost on a windowpane. 

His father snapped, “Jack!” and the mage started, squeezing his eyes shut, shaking his head.

“Wait in the hall,” Redden said. 

Kane would have protested, had it been him, but Jack strode out without a word. The temperature in the room rose as soon as the door slammed behind him, the sudden contrast making the mild air seem almost too warm by comparison. Still, Kane couldn’t stop shivering.  _ What did I just see?  _ he thought. Across the room, near the table, both Shipman and Refial gazed warily toward the door. 

_ They’re afraid. _ He tried not to give too much thought to the way his heart pounded in his chest, telling him he wasn’t as calm himself as he might like to be.  _ No, that’s ridiculous. It’s only Jack. _

He reached for the door handle but his father said, “Kane,” quietly, but it echoed in the chill air. “Don’t.”

“But, father-”

A chair scraped the floor with startling loudness, making Kane leap in alarm - Shipman yelped in fright - but it was only Orin. “I will go,” the monk said. “I believe young master Ashward requires the company of one who is capable of speaking in a very calm voice. Please, excuse me.” He left, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

Gollor shifted in his chair, as though embarrassed. “I apologize. I do not mean to keep things from you, but it can be… difficult to navigate the intricacies of the Divine Right. As soon as this healing is done, I will personally see you and your young white mage safely on your way, you have my word.”

Lord Redden shook his head. “I don’t understand the need for this secrecy. Why hasn’t Eldarin sought aid from Cornelia? White Hall would gladly have sent their best mages. Why did he let it go so long?”

Gollor sighed. “There are those who say that the curse may have been of Cornelian origin.” 

* * *

Jack squirmed. His legs were falling asleep. He sat cross-legged on the cool stone floor outside of Gollor’s study, his hands resting lightly on his knees and forming the sign of the spirit: thumb and first finger joined to make a circle. It was not a sign often used in black magic.  _ And clearly I’m an expert on black magic, _ he thought, his face burning with shame. Letting his feelings manipulate the aether like that… it was a childish mistake, one he was making far too often since they’d left Cornelia. He normally prided himself on his control. “How long am I supposed to sit like this?” he asked.

“For as long as need be,” said Orin. The old monk sat across from him in exactly the same position, though his eyes were closed. He seemed to be perfectly comfortable despite the way the hard floor had to be digging into his ankles.

Jack sighed.

“Focus,” said Orin. 

“I’ve told you, I’m fine now. It was a momentary lapse of concentration. If I’d had my staff, it never would have happened.”

“And if you learn to focus, you will not need a staff.” 

“Right,” Jack scoffed as he unfolded his long legs, rubbing his tingling calves. “It’s not that simple. It takes… I mean, it’s constant. Like trying to hold back the tides. The aether…” He groped for an apt description. “The aether  _ wants  _ to be drawn.”    

“And do you want to draw upon it?”

“No, not always.”

“Then I do not see the trouble,” the old man said, opening his eyes long enough to wink at him.

Jack rolled his own eyes in response, making Orin chuckle. “The trouble is that it’s everywhere - literally, everywhere! Telling me not to draw on the aether is like telling a man to walk between raindrops, or to only breathe the air from one side of the room. It’s impossible.”

“And while you are telling me how impossible it is, you are not focusing.”

Jack grumbled, but he took up the uncomfortable position again. He had not yet settled into it when he heard footsteps. He glanced down the hall just as two figures turned into the end of the corridor: Lena, followed by Elleth. “My lady!” he said, pushing up to his feet. He winced as everything below his waist twinged at the motion.

“And if you are distracted by a pretty face, you are not focusing,” Orin said quietly from his place in the floor.

Jack considered kicking him - lightly, of course - but then Lena drew close enough for him to see that she’d been crying. “You weren’t successful,” he said.

“No,” she replied, eyes downcast.

Orin stood in one fluid movement, pushing between them to open the door. “Come in and sit down,” he said, steering Lena inside.

The others were all seated when Jack re-entered the room, though Thad immediately jumped up to embrace Lena, saying, “You’re alright!” As she patted Thad’s head reassuringly, her hand shook, a sign of how much the healing had taken out of her. 

“Jack,” Redden said. “Perhaps you’d care to continue waiting in the hall?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Orin said, claiming the chair Thad had vacated. “I believe he has quite recovered from his earlier episode.”

“Episode?” Lena said, looking toward him with concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m afraid I lost my temper,” he said, hoping the others wouldn’t go into too much detail.

Her red curls bounced as she cocked her head in surprise. “You have a temper?” 

Kane snorted with scarcely suppressed laughter. 

Jack sighed. “Only on days ending in y.” 

Thad pulled Lena toward the empty chair beside Refial, staying close to her as she took it with a wan smile. Kane offered his seat to Elleth, then motioned for Jack to stand with him against the wall by the door once again. “Did Orin make you sit in the floor and meditate on your anger?” Kane asked quietly.

“How did you know?” Jack said. 

“He’s done it to me before,” Kane said. “Many times.”

Gollor spoke to Lena, saying, “Were you able to do anything for him?” 

Lena shook her head. “I’ve only bought him a few days at most, long enough for your people to say their goodbyes.”

“Days?” said Gollor. “I don’t understand! The last devout to check him over said he could linger through the summer at least!”

Lena hunched her shoulders as though trying to make herself smaller. “I can’t speak for what that devout saw, but all I saw was that curse. It’s wound through his soul like a snarled ball of twine. It was all I could do to work around it. I’m sorry.”

Gollor and Elleth exchanged a look of confusion, then focused on Lena. “You mean to say you can  _ see  _ this curse?” the old man said. “Our finest mages have tried without success for nearly five years!”

“I…” Lena began, but stuttered. “I don’t…”

_ Soul reading, _ Jack realized. She couldn’t tell Gollor the truth without revealing what she was. “She’s better than most white mages at seeing souls,” he said, quickly. Not a lie, but still Jack noticed that Lena blushed furiously over the misleading statement.

“At any rate,” Lena said, “yes, I can see it. And even if I work for a hundred years, I’ll never untangle it. He’d die a natural death long before I’d make a difference.”  

“You did your best,” Thad said, sitting on the floor beside her chair.

“Thank you, Thadius,” she said, ruffling his hair lightly.

Gollor’s head bowed in apparent despair, but Lord Redden said, “How long can you keep him alive?” 

Lena seemed taken aback. “I’ve… I’ve just told you...”

“You say you’ve given him a few days more. Could you do the same again tomorrow?”

“Yes, but… it would be cruel. He’s on the brink of death as it is - I can do nothing but keep him from falling over the edge. It’s practically necromancy.”

“Do it,” said Redden. “And keep doing it for as long as you can.” 

“What?” Jack said, but his voice was drowned out by Lena’s.

“Necromancy is the foulest sin a white mage can commit. What you’re asking of me is vile,” she said.

“If you don’t do this, thousands die,” Redden said. “The king blames Cornelia for this curse. If Aryon dies, it could mean war. I tell you now, Cornelia is not prepared for an elven invasion. They’ll roll over the kingdom like an ill wind.” He rose from his chair. “I’m not asking you to bring him back if he dies, only keep him alive long enough for me to send word to White Hall and get some help for these people. Are you willing?”

_ “Willingly and with pure intent.” _ Jack knew that was part of the White Oath. The first line, called the Proclamation, ran:  _ “The grace of my soul I share, willingly and with pure intent, serving life until life’s appointed end.” _ Did Redden know it as well? Had he invoked the Oath on purpose to guilt Lena into agreeing to his request?  _ He wouldn’t go that far, surely. Not after Provoka… _

Regardless of Redden’s intentions, Jack had no doubt that Lena saw the Oath in his words. She nodded uncertainly, eyes wide.  _ “Serving life until life’s appointed end…” She’s already told him the prince is as good as dead. _ That had to be the source of her misgivings. 

“Good,” said Redden, stepping toward the door. “Orin, come with me. I’ll need access to your contacts in this city. You two,” he said to Kane and Refial. “Remember what I told you.”

“Yes, father,” said Kane. Redden and Orin left without another word.

Gollor turned his chair to face Lena. “I am sorry to ask this of you. But it’s only for a few days. I’ll see that you’re taken care of. You’ll stay in my granddaughters’ old quarters.” 

“With you?” Lena said to Elleth.

The mage girl shook her head. “I live behind my shop now. Segeth lives in the barracks. You’ll have the rooms to yourself.” 

As Refial said a few quiet words to Lena, Jack turned to Kane. “We can’t stay at the castle,” he said. “The longer we stay here, the more likely we are to run afoul of the king.”

Kane shook his head. “We’re not all staying here. Father said he’d find us a place to stay in town.” 

“You’re not proposing she stay here alone?”

Kane raised his hands to ward off Jack’s argument. “I’m not proposing she present herself to king and court, either. But one human girl in servant’s livery is far less likely to attract the king’s attention than a gaggle of foreign guests.” 

“She’s to pretend to be a servant? You seem to have this all figured out.”

“You missed an interesting discussion,” Kane said, nodding.

“Did you even consider the possibility that she can’t pull off the charade?”

“No,” Kane said simply. “She may not be able to lie directly, but she’s been hiding her soul reading abilities from the Cornelian court for years. That took cunning. She’ll handle it.”

Refial stood and joined them. “Ready?”

“Where are you going?” Jack said.

“Back to the ship. Gollor agreed to fund the repairs in exchange for Lena’s aid, in case we have to leave here quickly. We’re to take word to the captain,” Kane said. 

“You could come with us,” Refial said. 

Jack looked over to where Lena spoke quietly with Thad, as Gollor and his granddaughter sat in conversation beside them. “I’ll stay,” he said.

“Jack, there’s nothing you can do here,” Kane said.

“I’ll stay,” he repeated.

“Suit yourself,” said Kane. “We’ll be back before nightfall. ”

When they’d gone, Jack made his way toward the chairs. Lena was smiling at Thad, saying, “It  _ is _ a pretty pendant, Thadius, but I don’t want it if you stole it.”

The boy grinned sheepishly as he stuffed something small and silver back into his pocket. “I didn’t  _ really _ steal it! I  _ found _ it!”

“Oh, you  _ found  _ it. In someone else’s possession?” Lena said. She looked up as Jack approached, still smiling at Thad’s antics, but also still pale from the healing she’d attempted. She patted the chair beside her, motioning him to sit, watching his face as he did so. “What are you thinking of?” she asked.

_ So many things, _ he thought, but what he said was, “Serving life until life’s appointed end.”

“Huh?” said Thad, seated on the floor between them.

Lena seemed surprised. “You know the Oath?”

Jack nodded. “I did tell you I thought about becoming a white mage. I would have been terrible at it, but I did consider it.” Technically, there was nothing stopping a black mage from performing white magic, but all white spells originated from the aether of a mage’s own soul. Though black mages could draw on the aether around them, the aether reserves they carried within were pitifully small compared to a white mage’s. His own power was less than a quarter of Lena’s.  _ If she ever learned to draw on the aether… _ He shuddered to think of a mage with that much power. He went on, “My lady, the prince isn’t dead yet, close as he may be. If all it takes to prevent a war is keeping him alive, I don’t think you can get any more pure-intentioned than that.”

She bowed her head in acknowledgement. “Thank you,” she said. She reached out to ruffle Thad’s hair again. “Thank you both. I’m glad I…” She stopped, stifling a yawn. “Excuse me. That healing was… difficult.”

“You should rest,” Jack said.

“I believe I’d prefer to eat first,” she said.

“Ooh! Me too!” said Thad. “Can we?” He turned toward Gollor and Elleth, who stopped talking to look at the boy.

“What’s that?” Gollor said.

“Food?” Thad repeated.

With the toe of his boot, Jack poked the boy sharply in the backside. “Rude,” he muttered. Thad glared at him.

Gollor laughed. “Of course! Forgive me, I should have offered sooner. Elleth, would you escort miss Lena and this young man to the kitchens, please? I would like to have a word with master Jack.”

Lena looked at Jack. “You should eat, too. I know you skipped breakfast.”

“I will,” he said.  _ If I can find a moment alone, where strangers won’t stare at my face, _ he thought, not wanting to consider how long that might take. His stomach chose that moment to gurgle; he hoped Lena didn’t hear it.

“I’ll see to it personally,” Gollor said, seeing Thad and the two girls to the door. When he returned, he sat across from Jack, pulling his chair closer so that their knees were no more than a foot apart.  _ Something tells me this isn’t going to be a friendly little chat between black mages, _ Jack thought. The old man folded his hands in his lap and sat staring at Jack for some time. Jack held his gaze, waiting.

“You’re worried about the girl?” the old man asked.

“She’s my friend,” Jack said. 

“Of course.” Gollor smiled, ducking his head and breaking off his stare, but Jack was unable to relax. “Your other friends tell me you’re a fire mage. Forgive my impertinence, but I’ve never known a fire mage to call upon ice magic in a moment of weakness.”

Jack sighed.  _ Yes, a moment of weakness. Let’s call it that. _ “Ice was my first and best spell. I can’t recall a time before I learned it.”

“Ice is not a basic spell. If your talents lie with that element, why train as a fire mage?”

Jack’s tongue seemed to fill his mouth.  _ I was burned. Why is it so hard to say it? _ Slowly, he reached up, grabbed the top edge of his scarf, and pulled it down enough to expose his crooked mouth, the puckered skin along his jaw. Gollor nodded but didn’t seem surprised. Jack tucked the scarf back into place.

“This fire, what else did it take from you?”

“Besides my face?” Jack could feel himself pulling the heat from the room, but did nothing to stop it.  _ Orin would be so disappointed, _ he thought briefly. “Only my home, my family, and a few fingers. Nothing terribly important,” he said, biting off each word with unrestrained bitterness. 

Gollor waved his hand toward the empty hearth and a fire sprang up there, sustained by nothing but aether. It burned brightly, yet briefly, only long enough to balance out the cold Jack had caused before it died away again, having nothing to burn. “That seems a good excuse,” Gollor said. “A man so wronged by fire could claim he desired mastery over it, and no one would question his decision to become a fire mage.” Gollor stood, turning toward the shelves along the room’s back wall, running his hands over the spines of the books before plucking one down and flipping it open to a page marked by a long ribbon. “Of course, fire is the element that requires the most control. Ice is harder to conjure, to be sure, but once conjured, it is unlikely to get away from you. A mage who lacked a black mage’s natural ability to control his gift could choose to study fire as a means to learn that control.”

_ He knows. _ There was only one kind of mage who struggled to control the aether around him: the kind meant to draw his aether from elsewhere. “That’s an interesting theory,” Jack said.

“And that’s a very thick coat you’re wearing. But perhaps you’re simply cold-natured.” Gollor smiled, sitting across from Jack again with the book open in his lap. It appeared to be a grimoire of some kind. “Kane told me you’re from Crescent Lake?”

Jack nodded. 

“The most powerful mages in the world come from Crescent Lake, or so I’m told.”

Jack huffed out a frustrated breath. “They’d like to think so, yes.” He may have been one of the least powerful black mages Crescent Lake had to offer, as far as aether reserves went. It was the reason - or rather, one of the reasons - Refial’s method of casting from raw aether intrigued him so much. 

Gollor said, “There’s a spell… No, let me start again. When this curse fell, every mage in the castle confronted it. The notes we took could stretch from here to Cornelia and back, but our search told us nothing of the curse’s origin. In my research, I found a ritual spell that may shed light on this calamity, but it requires more power than any elf mage, any  _ lone  _ mage, can muster. None who have tried it have succeeded. Some died in the attempt. But… perhaps if you and I were to work together… Well, if we knew the cause of this curse, we might be able to break it.”

The elven race shared a special connection with the aether - it was widely known - but their mages lacked the sheer power of human mages. However he might compare to his teachers back at the Lake, Jack knew he at least outstripped whatever an elf mage might have to offer. But his own power  _ added  _ to that of an elf mage…  _ How many times did I promise myself I would never cross this line?  _

“You understand what I’m asking of you?” Gollor said. 

_ The sooner we break this curse, the sooner Lena is safe.  _ What was it Redden had said to him back in that ruined temple?  _ “You’re not the strongest black mage I’ve seen, but you are by far the most determined.” _

“Show me the spell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _8/5/16: Chapter 21 was a bear to write - like, a huge, angry grizzly bear. It fought me every inch of the way. My first draft, which followed my original outline, fell flat. I tweaked it; still flat. Then I said, “Fine. That thing I was saving for several chapters from now? I’ll put it in here, right at the end! Just because! Because obviously something needs to change!” And magically (haha), the chapter was done! And (note the sarcasm to follow) I only had to redo the story outline for the next five chapters to accommodate that change! I'll talk about that more in chapters to come._


	22. Aetherial Slumber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Aetherial Slumber from Final Fantasy XIV. Click[here](https://youtu.be/_Urc1xmw-r0?t=1m10s) for the credits to FF XIV, as that’s the only video I could find for this sweet, soothing song. _

_ Mount Gulug, Fifteen Years Ago _

“Did you have a plan, my lady?”

Iris cried out, springing up from where she had bent over her bag, stowed in the bottom of the canoe. The river that circled the mountain lapped against the bank. The stones of the rocky shore she stood upon shifted beneath her feet at the motion, but Cedric’s hand was behind her, steadying her, before she even came close to falling. 

She hadn’t heard him approach, his boot-steps as soft as his voice always was. When she turned what she hoped was an exasperated glare on him, he merely crooked an eyebrow at her.  _ As much expression as a tame wolf,  _ thought Iris. His leather coat was dusty - the slopes of Mount Gulug were nothing but ash, scree, and sand - but the filth only made him look travel-worn, a man of the road with his sword strapped to his back, seeking adventure and fortune. Her annoyance at being startled faded as she imagined him so, until she found she had to force back a laugh - he was no adventurer, was as much a child of the city as she was - but then he cocked his head in apparent confusion at the face she made, making her laugh after all. 

“I thought I might wait by the boat,” she said, brushing a bit of the dust off of her white robe, which did nothing for the mess. She didn’t know if the volcanic ash would wash out, and resigned herself to the fact that the robe was likely ruined. “Really, Cedric, you can explore with the others. I’ll be fine.”

He shook his head, as she knew he would. She was the only reason he was here. Black mages swore an oath to use their powers “to build, to guide, and to guard,” but she’d never known a black mage to take that last part so seriously. Of course, she’d never known another battle mage. No others had fled Cornelia with them, and there were none at Crescent Lake.

“Suit yourself,” she said bending over her pack once more, digging out the spellbook she’d brought to study while the others sought the source of the disturbance in the aether that the Circle of Sages had sensed three days ago. The Circle wasn’t taking any chances:  _ Our death will come from that mountain. _ Her father’s prophecy had said so, but did not say how. 

Their three companions, only a short time gone, had already disappeared from view over a slope in the mountainside. The mountain rumbled, as it had often during their journey toward it from the Lake, more so in the hour since they’d arrived at its base, smoke billowing from its peak. The Circle claimed they’d seen no eruptions in their scryings of the future, but the ground shook and groaned in a way that made Iris look up at the mountain in apprehension. “Can you see where the others have gone?” she asked, unable to mask the worry in her voice.

Cedric nodded, looking in the direction the other black mages had taken. His eyes lit up blue-green, flicking back and forth across the mountainside as he read the aether. “Their trails are clear,” he said. “Would you like to follow them?”

“No.” She had nothing to offer here unless one of the black mages was injured, had only come with them to satisfy the Sages’ superstitions: it was considered unlucky, tempting fate, to send out a research team without a white mage. 

Cedric nodded again, but the corona remained in his eyes as he looked around them. She had a memory of him as she’d first seen him, standing in the foyer of the manor house in Cornelia when her brother Benjamin had brought him along on a visit from Black Hall. It was a Midsummer festival, and she had come down the stairs when she heard Benjamin arrive only to find Cedric, a low-born boy with no family of his own, looking about her well-appointed home in both wonder and apprehension. 

That was not what he was feeling now, if Iris was any judge. He’d been less stoic back then, so she couldn’t be sure.  _ He’s bored, _ she thought.  _ Surely he must be bored. _ “Perhaps,” she said, but stopped.  _ Perhaps I’d like to explore after all, _ she’d been about to say, but that would have been a lie. She looked up the mountain once more, saw movement in the sky off to her left. “Perhaps we might go see what those buzzards find so interesting over there.”

“Lead the way, my lady,” he said.

“I’m not a lady,” she said.  _ Not anymore. _ “Not all the way out here.”

He only looked at her, and this time she hadn’t the slightest inkling what was on his mind.

They followed the water. It seemed the easiest path - away from the river, the ground sloped up sharply. She walked confidently toward the birds she’d seen, knowing Cedric scanned the aether as they went, knowing he would draw his sword at the first hint of danger. She didn’t question him when he reached out and tugged her hand sharply, bringing her to a stop - she trusted him that much - but she did glance back at him, then followed the path of his still-glowing gaze to a spot farther up the mountainside.

She saw the body, then. A child’s body, badly burned. She almost missed it, for it was so filthy it was as black as the stones it lay upon, but once she’d seen it she could focus on nothing else. Almost reflexively, she called up her soul sight, expecting to see nothing.

A tiny, blue flame seemed to call out to her.

“He’s alive,” she breathed. She pulled against Cedric’s hand, felt some resistance there, ripped free of him. “Cedric, he’s alive!”

“My lady!” he called out from behind her as she ran.

She barely heard him run after her, quiet as always, but she was casting the first Cure before her knees hit the ground. She worried it would slide off and away from him - it seemed to pool around his soul as if it wouldn’t go in - but then the unconscious boy gasped in her arms as the spell seeped inside. 

_ Again, _ she thought, casting another.  _ Please, Lord Bahamut, let it work. He wants to live - I’m sure of it.  _ But there was so much to heal: burns, infection, dehydration, exhaustion. 

By the fifth spell, the boy didn’t wake. “Please!” she begged aloud.  _ I need more. _ She opened herself to the aether, sent her senses out fumbling blindly for it. She was no black mage, couldn't see it, but she had learned long ago that she could draw the aether in, painful though it was for her to do so.  _ There’s nothing here.  _ She turned to Cedric, found him nearby as expected, but with his sword drawn, corona gone the color of starlight, a white flame, as he looked quickly from side to side. “Cedric!” she cried to get his attention. “I need more aether! Where is it?”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you. There’s none here. Something’s wrong with this place.”  

“Can you draw any over to me?” she asked.

“Iris…”

“Please!” she said again.

He closed his eyes, one hand raising his sword so that the flat of the blade rested against his forehead, the other making a sign in front of him. His eyes still glowed when he opened them again. “Draw what’s immediately around you. I’ll tell you when you’re running low.”  

She gritted her teeth against the pain as the free aether grated against her like a hot, searing wind. She felt the corona spring up like a dryness in her eyes as it passed into her soul. It wasn’t enough. She choked on a sob. “We have to get him back to the Lake. I can’t fix this!” 

Cedric knelt beside her now. She hadn’t seen him put his sword away, but he must have done so, for he put both hands on her shoulders. “Iris, you know what your father said. Our death will come from this mountain.” His voice, as usual, was as calm as a night breeze. 

She could not keep her own voice steady. “I don’t care! He’s only a child!” 

He nodded once, acknowledging, accepting, then turned and slipped his arms beneath the boy, standing smoothly as though the burden weighed nothing. Cedric looked back at her, waiting.

She reached down, meaning to push herself to her feet, but found her hands full of feathers. She noticed for the first time the buzzard sleeping on the ground beside her. Another lay just beyond the first, and another past that. Now that she wasn’t preoccupied with the boy, in fact, she noticed what seemed to be an entire flock of buzzards sleeping peacefully on the black stone slope.

_ Not sleeping, _ she realized.  _ Drained. _

Iris looked up at the boy in Cedric’s arms. “Cedric… I think he’s like you…”

She had no trouble reading the sadness in Cedric’s face.

* * *

_ Elfheim, Present Day _

Thad set his empty bowl on the tabletop. The long rectangular table was clean but plain, in the servants’ dining hall across from the kitchen, near the door where they had entered the castle. That was the sort of thing Thad paid attention to - you never knew when you’d need to exit in a hurry. The kitchens were busy at this time of day - still cleaning up after lunch, already preparing the dinner meal - but the three of them had the dining hall to themselves. “Are you going to eat that?” Thad asked.

Lena yawned again, looking down at her bowl of soup as if surprised to see it there. “Hmm? Oh, no, Thadius. Help yourself.”

He shoved his own bowl aside to pull hers over. It was nearly half full.

“Are you sure you won’t have more, miss?” Elleth asked. “Or would you like me to show you to your quarters?”

“I wouldn’t mind a nap,” Lena said.

“Very well.” Elleth stood, regarding Thad speculatively. “Will you be alright on your own until I get back?”

“I’m fine,” he said, or would have, had his mouth not been full. It came out as a crude mumble, but Elleth seemed to get the idea.

When they were gone, he worked through the remains of Lena’s meal, then checked Elleth’s bowl for more. She’d left a few good spoonfuls behind. He waited at the table, looking about the room. The walls were hung with tapestries that might once have been valuable but appeared old and faded, possibly moth-eaten in at least one spot that Thad could see; they were likely castoffs from elsewhere in the castle, fit only to brighten up the servants’ halls. One of them depicted a great tree that seemed to hold a whole world in its branches; another showed a beautiful elf woman in a golden crown, extending her hand to a human man with long blond hair. Thad wandered up for a closer look.

“That’s Asura,” said a voice near the door. Thad looked, and found the cook’s apprentice who had brought them their meal, an elf boy no older than himself but taller than Lena. 

“Who?” Thad asked.

“Asura, goddess of life, mother of the elves. And that’s her husband, Erdrick,” said the apprentice as he came into the room and picked up the empty bowls from the table.

“So, the father of the elves?”

“That’s him.”

“Huh.” He looked up at the image of the smiling goddess. “Is it a happy story?”

“Sure,” said the apprentice. “Right up until Erdrick died, being a mortal man and all. Asura chose to die with him.”

“Oh.” Thad hadn’t realized someone could have a choice in the matter. In the picture, the man, Erdrick, looked almost worshipful as he reached up toward the woman. “How did she die?” Thad asked, but there was no answer. He looked behind him, but the apprentice had gone.  _ These elves move too quietly, _ he thought.

He looked at some of the other tapestries, busy battle scenes that he couldn’t make heads or tails of, and soon grew bored, wondering when Elleth would return, deciding at last that he would find his way back to Gollor’s study on his own. 

He hardly got lost at all. The castle didn’t seem to be laid out in any sort of pattern, but that simply  meant none of the halls looked the same, so it was easy to sort out whether he was walking in a place he hadn’t seen before. When he turned a corner that he was sure led back to the corridor that held Gollor’s study, he saw them ahead of him, Jack and Gollor, striding swiftly away. Gollor carried a bulky cloth sack. Jack carried a lantern. At the end of the hallway, Gollor looked both ways before turning left, motioning Jack to follow quickly, though neither of them bothered to look behind.

_ They’re sneaking... _ Thad realized. He was a thief - he knew sneaking when he saw it. He wondered if he should follow them, then wondered what he would do if he didn’t.  _ Wait around for them to come back, I suppose, _ he thought.  _ No, thank you! _

Hanging back to be sure he wasn’t noticed, he nearly lost them in the twisting hallways once or twice, but it didn’t seem to occur to the two men that they might be followed, and they talked the whole way through the castle, making it easier for Thad to keep track of them.

“It’s almost never used,” Gollor said, standing before a heavy-looking door as he flipped through a ring of keys, holding first one then another up to the light of a torch set in the wall. “A few of the apprentices use it for practice, but we haven’t had need of a real ritual since, oh, it must be fifteen years ago by now.”

_ A ritual? They’re planning a ritual?  _ Thad almost gasped in excitement, but stifled the noise before he could attract unwanted attention. He knew all about ritual spells - there was a whole chapter on them in his book.

“It’s still impressive,” said Jack. “Even in Crescent Lake, we don’t have a permanent ritual circle. Apprentices are expected to draw one in chalk every time they need it.”

Gollor chuckled, finding the right key at last. It turned soundlessly in the lock. “If the masters at Crescent Lake want to stand over their students as they practice their drawings, that’s well and good. Around here, we have other things to do with our time.” The door opened with barely a creak, closing just as quietly behind them as they slipped inside.

Thad hurried to the door and held his ear against it. He waited until he was sure they’d moved on before trying the latch, but it seemed Gollor had locked it behind him. Thad sighed, checking his pockets. It never hurt to keep interesting things in one’s pockets. Among the coins and cards and oddly shaped pebbles he’d picked up here and there, he found something that would work: the star-shaped pendant he’d acquired that morning had points just long and thin enough to serve as a reasonable pick. It took only moments of fiddling before he heard the tumblers slide into place.

The door opened onto a set of stairs, leading down into a basement so dark Thad almost turned back, but at the bottom of the stairs, he could see a long hall with many doorways, none with doors on them, and the closest of these was dimly lit.  _ The lantern? _ Thad thought. The doorway wasn’t far from the lowest step - he could always turn back later, and he could leave the door at the top of the stairs open for more light.  

Quickly and quietly, Thad crept down the stairs. He was able to hear the mages again before he’d gone halfway, and that bolstered his courage again: he wasn’t alone after all. Gollor asked a question Thad didn’t completely catch, but he heard Jack’s reply: “It’s not dissimilar to something I did in Cornelia a few weeks ago. I had to track someone who had Teleported out of the city.”

That was when they had rescued the princess. Now that Thad knew more about magic, he thought he understood what Jack had done that night, following the princess’s aura trail. Lena had taught Thad about auras: every living thing had one, a bit of aether that they carried around inside them, and they left some of that aura behind on everything they touched and everywhere they went. But only a black mage could see the auras in the aether. Even weak ones who weren’t good enough to cast real spells were sometimes sought out by people trying to find lost items and such. 

Jack went on, “But you’re right: this is an order of magnitude more complicated.”

Thad edged up to the doorway, peeking into the room. It was plain, unfurnished, with bare stone walls and cobwebs in the corners, but the floor seemed like something out of one of Pappy’s stories: an ornate mosaic of fine, tiny tiles that glittered in the lantern light, patterns of color surrounding, at the room’s center, a circle of mirrored glass as wide as Jack was tall. The two mages knelt on opposite sides of it, arranging herbs in shallow grooves in the floor, like built-in bowls. There were two more bowls situated around the circle, making for one at each of the four compass points.

It was nicer than Thad expected. His book had described rituals as being messy, but the way the mages worked to arrange the herbs just so around that perfect circle seemed very organized to Thad. The herbs would give off the aether of the once-living plants when they were burned, and the aether of the room would be affected in different ways depending on the plants involved. The symbols in the floor were meant to funnel the aether toward the mage in the circle, allowing weaker mages to pull more aether than they could on their own.  _ But Matoya said Jack was a strong mage, _ Thad thought.  _ How much aether does he need? _

“You knew what you were seeking then,” said Gollor. “Now you’re looking for an unknown quantity through five years of aether. I wouldn’t think less of you if you backed out now.”

“I would,” said Jack. He finished arranging the herbs and stood, facing the older mage. “Are you sure you’re willing to help with this? It won’t be pleasant.”

Gollor looked grim. “I’ve seen this ritual fail too many times already. I will lend you whatever power I can.”

From inside his coat, Jack drew a knife that Thad didn’t even know the fire mage had. “Let’s get started, then.” He held the knife in front of him in one hand, making a sign with the other. His eyes lit up red briefly as the contents of the four bowls began to smolder, but then the corona deepened into a wicked-looking purple, and when he spoke again, it was in Leifenish, in a strong, clear voice that Thad would never have thought his normally quiet friend was capable of.

Gollor joined him, speaking just as loudly, his own eyes glowing with the use of black magic. Thad had heard Redden use power words before - evoking something’s true name to focus the aether around it - and he’d read about incantations, which came of stringing power words together, but this was bigger than that. The chant went on and on, and though Thad listened carefully, he couldn’t detect any repetition. 

Thad’s heart beat faster. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, and a feeling that he was being watched. He looked behind him, up the stairs toward the door he’d left open and the cheerfully bright light of the well-lit hall beyond it, but there was no one there. He glanced at the other doorways in the basement hall, and their gaping darkness seemed to stare back at him. Anything could be hiding there. He forced himself to turn his attention back to the room in front of him.  _ It shouldn’t be frightening, _ he thought.  _ It’s only Jack and an old man. _ They weren’t doing anything but talking, really, even if he couldn’t understand the words. 

He felt a breeze flowing past him, yet it didn’t ruffle his hair.  _ Not a breeze,  _ he realized. _ The aether! _ He could feel it, so much of it, moving so fast, rushing toward the ritual circle like a charging beast. Around the circle’s edge, the symbols in the floor began to glow with a ghostly shimmer, shades of blue and green and purple.  _ Purple is the color of time, _ Matoya had said,  _ and blue is the color of seeking. _

_ Wait... Are they really glowing? Or am I seeing the aether?  _ He couldn’t tell. It was all so strange. The aether breeze rose in intensity, pushing him into the doorframe, as if it would blow him into the room. It seemed to pull at his skin and clothes, like a hundred pinching fingers, and he gasped at the sensation. In the circle, Gollor cried out, falling to his knees. Jack kept chanting, but his once-clear voice became strained. Flames shot up from the four bowls and immediately died, their fuel burned away. 

Jack’s voice gave out mid-word. The flow of aether slowed, making Thad feel a sickening lightness in the pit of his stomach, the feeling of waking up after a dream of falling, and then with sudden violence the flow reversed, a whoosh of power rushing out and away from the circle in all directions.

He’d closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the basement hallway was as boring and ordinary as any other, though his hands gripped the doorframe so hard he had to force his fingers to let go. It had been so quiet, but it had seemed so loud. His ears rang with the silence, so silent he worried that when he looked in the room, the mages would be dead. When he built up the courage to check, Gollor was as he had been, on his knees on one side of the circle, but across from him, Jack lay prone on the tiled floor, unmoving.

“Jack!” Thad cried, running to his friend. He shook the mage, and Jack groaned as his eyes fluttered open. 

Jack sat up, squinting as though his head ached terribly, but then he noticed Thad at last. “Why are you here?” he growled. 

“Because I was worried about you, dummy!” Thad lied. Well, he  _ had  _ worried, but that wasn’t why he had followed them to begin with.

Gollor tried to stand, but he seemed too shaky to manage it. Thad went to the old man and helped him up. “Did it work?” Gollor said, focused on Jack. “What did you see?”

“A crown,” said Jack.

* * *

It was dizzying. That was the only word Jack could think to describe the sensation. Before the ritual, he’d been focused on keeping the aether at bay, practically lamed without his staff. Now, it was as if the aether couldn’t be bothered with him. 

“Come on, grandpa! I can’t carry you!” Thad said, assisting Gollor a few steps ahead of him. The old man had a hand on Thad’s shoulder, leaning heavily on the boy as they walked slowly through the castle back to Gollor’s rooms.

Jack swatted Thad in the back of the head. “Show a little respect,” he said. His head spun even from that little effort; he leaned against the wall, shutting his eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass.

“Woven branches of gold, with three white stones. You’re sure that’s what you saw?” Gollor asked.

“Quite,” said Jack, concentrating on his steps. It was like a great weight had been lifted from him, a weight he’d carried so long that it had become a part of him. He felt… less: less himself, less grounded, but also less limited, more alive than he thought he had ever been. 

He called up his aether sight. The aether was still there, he could still see it, but he no longer felt the sensation of it rushing toward him.  _ I’ve struggled half my life to control it,  _ he thought. _ One ritual? That was all it took?  _ He doubted the effect would last; it seemed too good to be true. 

“Asura’s crown… It’s not possible,” Gollor said. “That crown has been the symbol of elvish royalty since the founding of the kingdom! Surely if it was cursed, someone would have noticed!”

Jack saw the aether swirling at the end of the hall moments before he heard the rushing footsteps that indicated someone was coming. Elleth turned the corner, breathless from hurry. “There you are!” she said, stomping up to Thad, stopping right in front of him with her hands on her hips and a glare in her eyes. “You said you’d wait in the dining hall! Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

“I thought you forgot me! You were gone forever!” Thad whined.

“I was gone ten minutes! At most!” She seemed to notice for the first time how much her grandfather leaned on the boy. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

“Only a little empty, dear one,” Gollor said, standing a little straighter. “Jack was helping me with a spell, that’s all. As soon as we get back to my study and I can prop my feet up, I’ll be right as rain.”

Elleth shook her head. “You can’t! That’s why I was so worried about finding the boy! Cotto’s there, waiting for you.”

Gollor almost winced at the mention of that name. “The king’s advisor. We can’t trust him not to report back to Eldarin. He didn’t see Lena, did he?”

“No, I took her to my old room already.”

The old man nodded. “Good. That’s good.” He seemed to think for a moment, then said, “Why don’t you take the boy there as well?”

“But I want to stay with Jack!” Thad said.

“I’ll go with you,” Jack said to Thad. 

“No,” said Gollor. “Cotto is a black mage of some skill. If he’s come looking for me now, it’s because he felt the ritual. He knows I can’t have cast it on my own - it’s too late to hide you from him. But he doesn’t need to know anyone came here with you.” The old man nodded toward Thad, then turned back to his granddaughter. “Take the boy and stay with him. I’ll send for the two of you later.”

He sagged as soon as Elleth and Thad were out of sight. Jack moved in to support him, hoping his own dizziness had passed. 

“I take it you’d never done that sort of thing before?” Gollor asked.

Jack shook his head. “You?”

“Once,” he said. “With a friend. When I was much, much younger.” He took a few tentative steps with his arm around Jack’s shoulders. The two were of a similar height. “His name was Morn. We were apprentices together. He told me a bit of what it was like for him. That’s how I knew you for a… for what you are.”

He didn’t say the words; neither of them said the words. “Where is he now?”

“Dead,” said Gollor. “He lived lavishly - fond of food, and women, and drink. If there’s one certainty I’ve noticed in all my years, it’s that no one who lives life so fully ever lives long.”   

Jack nodded.  _ Too much to hope he’d still be around to answer some questions, _ he thought.

“Your Leifenish is remarkable. I have to say, I doubted your ability to memorize such a long incantation in so short a time, but you did well,” said Gollor.

Leifenish had been his best subject, as easy for him as ice magic, but focused as he was on putting one foot in front of the other, he only said, “Thank you,” before the two of them lapsed into silence.

They were several minutes more making their way to the corridor that contained Gollor’s study, and before they turned into it, Gollor pushed away from Jack to shuffle forward on his own, putting on a show of strength he could not possibly back up. At the end of the hall, near the study door, an elf man waited. With thinning blond hair, and dressed in a black mage’s robes, he was short for an elf - perhaps as tall as Kane - but stocky, a solid-looking man in his middle years. He spoke with an edge of irritation to his words, as if he was scolding an apprentice rather than addressing an elder.

“What in Asura’s name were you up to at this time of day, Gollor? You know he’s worse before sundown than…” His eyes skimmed over Jack, standing quietly behind Gollor, but then snapped back to him, seeming to realize he was not an elf mage. “What is this?”

“I didn’t want to disturb you in case it didn’t work,” Gollor said. “Cotto, this is Jack Ashward of Crescent Lake. He has been kind enough to consult with me on our predicament.”

“Consult?” said Cotto. “How much have you told him?”

“I have told him everything pertinent to the prince’s condition,” Gollor said. 

“This is dangerous ground, Gollor! The Divine Right-”

“Hang the Right!” Gollor snapped, but his exhaustion sapped the heat from his words. “Listen, we need the crown. Can you get it to us?” 

Cotto appeared startled, confused. “No! And I’ll not say another word to a… a human stranger. We’ll discuss this later. If you’ll excuse me, I must attend on the king.” He walked past them, bumping Jack roughly as he did so.

“We’ve completed the ritual, Cotto!” Gollor said, his voice ragged with desperation.

The shorter mage stopped cold, turning back slowly. “What?”

Gollor nodded. “It’s true. The crown is tied up in this somehow. We need it!”

Cotto looked at them, his eyes scrutinizing Jack. “You mean to tell me that for five years we’ve been trying this ritual - trying and failing - and all you learned from it was that the curse is somehow related to the crown?” 

“I know it’s not much, but it’s more than we had before!” said the old man.

Jack held Cotto’s gaze, focused on keeping his emotions calm.  

Cotto looked away first, wiping his hands over his face in a gesture that spoke of abiding weariness. He took a deep, calming breath. He was more composed when he spoke again. “The crown is missing. Has been since… since before the madness set in… nearly five years ago now.”

_ Madness. _ The behavior Gollor had described had seemed mad enough but he hadn’t outright named it as such.

Gollor gasped. “Missing? How did this happen?”

The king’s advisor grimaced as though the words were sour on his tongue. “The king himself has hidden it away.”

“Surely you could ask him, given the circumstances,” Jack said. 

Cotto chuckled bitterly, casting an amused glance at Gollor. “You really did tell him as little as possible, didn’t you?” To Jack he said, “No one speaks to the king except under direst need. Anything could set him off. He claims there are spies everywhere trying to usurp him. Even the lords of Elfheim, his closest friends, have been imprisoned or worse, those who haven’t fled to the countryside. Do you honestly think it would go well for me if I ask him where to find the royal crown, the symbol of his rule?” 

It sounded worse than Gollor had led him to believe.  _ The curse weighs heavily on the mind of the king, _ he had said, but this was no trifling, fickle mood. It was true and genuine madness. Jack could feel his anger rising and fought it down, only to realize there was no need: the aether hadn't moved. 

The shorter elf stopped suddenly, gasping, as if struck by a thought. “Astos…” he said.

Jack looked toward Gollor. The old man said, “The king’s cousin. He was a scholar.”

“Was?” said Jack.

“One of the first the king turned against.”

Cotto spoke breathlessly, as though excited by something. “But did you ever hear why?” 

Gollor shook his head. 

“He was asking about the crown. I’ve only just remembered. He’d… I think he noticed Eldarin hadn’t been wearing it. He seemed to think it was important. It could be that he knew something, had found something in his studies.”

Gollor sighed. “But Astos is dead. The king ordered him killed.”

Cotto shifted from foot to foot, looking guilty. “No… the king ordered him killed on sight. No one… no one has seen him alive these past few years, but he lives. Fled. I can’t speak for the other lords of Elfheim, but Astos is only in hiding.”

“Why have you said nothing about this before?” Gollor asked.

“You know how the king is! It could be that he’s forgotten about Astos altogether. If he knew, he might rephrase his orders. No one can resist the Divine Right - you know that!”

“Then you’ve been in communication with him all this time?”

“Only intermittently, when I can find a willing human messenger. No elf can be trusted with such an errand.” Cotto paced, seeming to quiver with excitement, his earlier weariness apparently forgotten. “Do you understand what this means? We have a lead! A genuine lead!” He ran his hands over his head, raking his fingers through his thinning hair. He asked Jack, “Will you go to him? If I tell you where he is?” then turned suddenly to Gollor asking, “Can I trust him with this? Do you trust him?”

“I do,” Gollor said.

“Wait a moment,” Jack said, facing Gollor. “I can’t go anywhere right now. You know I have my reasons for staying here.”  _ One short, red-headed reason,  _ he thought.

“I know you have reasons for wanting this curse broken as badly as we do,” Gollor said.

Jack scowled, again making no effort to control his emotions. It felt good, he realized, not having to rein himself in, to let himself be angry, upset, and frustrated -  _ Free. _ \- but at the same time he recognized the need for a cool head, for rational thought. 

When Gollor said, “Perhaps we could step inside and discuss this further?” Jack reluctantly followed them.  

* * *

It was dusk by the time Kane and Refial reached the castle gates. The guards looked at them suspiciously, but Kane showed them the letter Gollor had given him with the mage’s seal affixed in the corner, and they were allowed to pass. “Thank you for coming with me,” Kane said. “It would have been boring to walk back alone.” 

“Of course,” said Refial. “Though I didn’t come along for your company. No offense.”

“None taken,” Kane said, laughing at the pirate’s honesty. He himself had been less than thrilled at the prospect of walking back to the ship with Refial. Kane hadn’t had a real conversation with him in their short acquaintance, and his initial impression of the man was not a flattering one: vain, vapid, and cowardly. But Kane had been pleased to find that - once he got Refial out of the city, where there were no women around to pose for - he was actually a decent fellow, not vapid at all, though there was no denying he  _ was  _ both vain and a coward. Still, Kane had been surprised when Refial offered to walk back to the city with him after their business in the harbor was done. “Why exactly did you come along? I hadn’t thought to ask before.”

“Oh, lots of reasons,” Refial said as they crossed the castle yard toward the service entrance nearest to Gollor’s rooms. “For one thing, who stays aboard ship when the legendary city of Elfheim lies just off the gangplank, waiting to be explored?”

“That’s what I said!”

“Right? Secondly, did you see Gollor’s granddaughters? The twins?”

Kane shook his head. There’d been a girl with Lena earlier, but they hadn’t been introduced. 

Refial smiled. “I think I have a chance there. I might as well act on it, if we’re going to be here awhile. Thirdly…” He trailed off as they stepped into the castle, looking about the stone-walled entryway fondly. “Thirdly, it reminds me of home.”

Kane flinched - the statement so perfectly mirrored his own feelings. “Home? The castle? Why? You’re not some sort of lordling, are you?”

Refial snorted. “No more than you. Less so, in fact: bastard son of a bastard daughter of a wealthy merchant. I grew up in my grandfather’s mansion. I wouldn’t go back to it, but I miss it sometimes.”

“Huh,” said Kane.  _ Steeped in luxuries that will never truly belong to you,  _ he thought.  _ I know how that feels. _ As they walked the castle corridors toward Gollor’s study, he asked, “Where are you from, anyway?”

“Gaia. Ever heard of it? It’s a huge city.”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Really? It’s at least as old as Cornelia. ‘The City on the Hill’? ‘Jewel of Titan’s Crown’? No?” He seemed disappointed when Kane shook his head. “That’s alright. We Gaians can be a bit self-important about it, but I’ve only met a few people since I left who even know it exists.”   

As he turned the corner from one hallway to the next, heading toward Gollor’s rooms, Kane heard raised voices. Refial stiffened in alarm, but Kane only sighed. “Oh, good. Father’s back.” Ignoring Refial’s weak protest, he pushed forward into Gollor’s study to find his father and Jack standing across from each other in front of the fireplace.

“-only clue we have to this thing! I don’t care how long it takes us to run it down!” Lord Redden was saying.

“Four days?” Jack said, louder than Kane had ever heard the mage speak before, waving what appeared to be a map in one hand. “Four days’ journey? We don’t even know for sure that this Astos knows anything about it!”

“No, we don’t know that,” Gollor said. He sat slumped in a chair just behind Kane’s father, with his head in his hands. “But Cotto was right about one thing at least: Astos was heard asking about the crown before he and the king had their falling out.” 

“What did we miss?” Kane asked.

Lord Orin sat serenely in a chair on the other side of the room, his hands folded delicately around a full tea cup, a fresh pot steaming on the table beside him. “Welcome back, young master Carmine, master Fortem. It seems Jack has found the cause of the curse.”

“But that’s great news!” said Refial.

“No, it isn’t,” Jack snapped. “The spell told us nothing of where to find this thing, and the only elf who might know about it is an exile confined to some run-down keep west of the groves!”

“West of the groves?” Kane said, motioning for Jack to let him see the map. “Father, didn’t the half-elf say that area had succumbed to the Rot?” He flinched at his father’s sharp glare. 

“When were you planning to mention that?” Jack asked, loudly, on the verge of yelling. Kane waited for the mage to lose control again, for the room to grow colder, but the temperature didn’t change. “How many days do you suppose that will add to the journey?”  

Gollor stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. His voice was quiet yet sharp. “Not as many days as my people have suffered because of this curse.”

Jack shut his eyes, but didn’t otherwise move. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper, hoarse and desperate. “I can’t leave her alone. Not again.”

“You needn’t,” Gollor said, reaching out to pat Jack’s shoulder. “I could keep the boy as well. I’ve been saying for weeks now that I needed to hire a page for myself - half the castle staff has heard me say so. It would be the perfect cover.”

“This is a most excellent plan,” said Orin, sipping his tea. 

“It’s the way it has to be, lad,” Redden said. “If we’re out of the castle, out of the city altogether, there’s less chance our presence here will draw attention to hers.” 

Jack nodded but said no more.

* * *

The prince’s window faced the castle gate. Lena stood there, watching them go until she lost sight of them in the busy city, then kept staring long after, gazing west through the tops of the trees before she shook herself free at last.  _ They have their job to do, _ she thought,  _ and I have mine. _

She turned toward the sleeping prince, picking up the skirt of her floor-length dress as she did so. It was a servant’s dress, green and gold livery; on an elf maid, it would perhaps have reached mid-calf. She sighed at the feel of the smooth stone floor against her bare feet - any excuse not to wear shoes was a good one, in her opinion.  _ I should be comfortable as I work,  _ she told herself.  _ And no one will see my feet anyway. _

Thadius, leaning his chair back against the wall beside the door, looked up at her as she crossed the room, but then frowned, turning back to his book. It wasn’t really  _ his _ book - his book was back on the ship, along with several other things neither of them thought they would need for what was supposed to be a short stay in Elfheim - but Gollor too owned a copy of the Adept’s Grimoire, and had been happy enough to lend it to the boy.

“Oh, don’t be so sour, Thadius. You know I can feel it when you are. You said you didn’t want to go, remember?”

He blushed, and she detected a hint of shame. He  _ had  _ wanted to go, if only to stay with the others, but at the same time, he had leaped at the chance to stay in the castle, avoiding whatever dangers they might face on the road. She had overheard Kane giving him a little speech about staying behind to guard her, which she thought was sweet of him, but she could also feel that Thadius hadn’t believed a word of it. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

She smiled to take the sting out of her words. “If you’re going to be sorry, you’ll have to wait in the hall. I can’t have negative emotions cluttering up the room while I’m trying to heal.”

That surprised him, and he nodded vigorously. “I’ll try harder.” He closed his eyes a moment, taking a deep breath; she recognized Orin’s meditation techniques, and felt his mind calm somewhat, before he returned to the book in front of him, his emotions dulling into a hum of concentration as rhythmic and soothing as ocean waves.

She settled into her own task, first opening her soul sight, and then reading the prince as she had the day before. Much of the previous day’s work had been undone by the curse, but not all of it. Lungs needed clearing, blood needed to flow. None of it was complicated. Tedious, that was the word. She soon picked up a rhythm of her own, her mind wandering as she worked.

She had been at it perhaps an hour when she noticed the change in Thad’s mood, a tingling buzz against her skin. “What are reading about that you find so fascinating?”

He startled at the sound of her voice. “I didn’t mean to distract you!”

“You didn’t,” she said. “I can talk and heal at the same time.”

“Oh,” he said, relieved. “Well, I got to the chapter about time. It’s really complicated.”

“And have you learned how Matoya bent time around her cave?” she said, half in jest.

His answer surprised her. “Not yet, but I bet I can figure it out.”

She chuckled. “You think so? Are you sure you don’t want to start with something simple, like learning to draw on the aether?”

“I don’t know,” Thadius said, turning the book sideways. “This aether chart makes more sense than the Protect one…” As he stared at it, the hum of concentration resumed.

She left him to it, moving deeper into the healing, losing track of time herself as she flowed from one Cure to the next.  _ Lungs and muscles and heart and…  _

A crash sounded behind her, bringing surprise and alarm. She felt her power brush against the curse as she pulled away, and she gasped at the pain of it. When she looked back, heart hammering in her chest, Thadius looked up at her guiltily from the floor, the chair he’d been leaning back in turned sideways beneath him. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he said quickly.

“It’s alright,” she sighed. “Are you unhurt?” 

“I’m fine,” he said, pouting.

“Perhaps next time you’ll leave all four chair legs on the floor?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

_ I must sound like my mother if I’m “ma’am” now, _ she thought. She faced the prince again, then sighed, completely unfocused now, unable to remember where she’d left off. The light slanted through the window in a way that told her it was afternoon. Where had the morning gone? She became aware of another emotion, a niggling, gnawing, mosquito buzz deep in her belly, and then realized it was not entirely coming from the boy. “I’m getting hungry, Thadius. Could you run to the kitchens and see about arranging something?”

He nodded, brushing himself off, and rushing out the door.

Alone, she took several deep breaths to calm herself once more, returning her attention to the sleeping prince. She’d nearly done as much as she could do for now - like cleaning a house for company, every corner, nook, and cranny dusted and polished.  _ If not for the curse,  _ she thought, _ Aryon would be the healthiest man in the world right now. _

She frowned, then, focusing. She probed at the curse, feeling the pain flare up when she did, but she didn’t relent. If she could get a grip on it, just grab it and hold it and pull, like pulling a weed, maybe… She felt her heart beat harder as she struggled with it, her breath quicken.

She felt disappointment and boredom fill the room, a shout in her ears, and the curse slipped away from her like soap in a bath. She sighed. “Thadius, what did I tell you about negative emotions?” 

_ Surprise. Confusion.  _ And yet, silence.

She turned, but she was alone.  _ Still not back from the kitchens, _ she thought.  _ But the only other person here is…  _ She looked down at the elf prince, asleep, face serene as his chest rose and fell with his breathing. “Can you… can you hear me?” she asked. 

_ Confusion.  _ Again, stronger than before.

_ It was him. That was from him.  _ “Aryon?”

_ Joy! Relief! _

“Oh, gods,” she breathed. It wasn’t a true sleep: he was trapped in there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _8/12/16: I never really got into Final Fantasy XI or XIV. One of the reasons I play Final Fantasy games (and console games in general) is because I’m an anti-social hermit who does not play well with others. Give me a single-player game that I can pick up when it suits me. Do NOT tell me I HAVE to be at my computer at 7pm on Saturday to tank the raid. Ain’t happening. So while I dabbled in both of those games a bit, I wouldn’t say I got the complete experience. FF XIV (which lent this chapter its title) has a gorgeous soundtrack though. And a gorgeous Thancred as well._


	23. Tragic Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Tragic Love from Final Fantasy IX. Click[here](https://youtu.be/LASEU4aKlIk) for the original, which is really the only version of this song you’ll ever need. It does exactly what it’s meant to do. _

_ Crescent Lake, Ten Years Ago _

Cedric knocked once, pushing the door open without waiting for a response. “Iris?” he called. There was no answer. He sighed in relief. As much as he would have liked to see her before he left, he wasn’t prepared to speak to her. That was why he had written the letter, after all.

The house - her father’s - was quiet as he made his way upstairs to her room, stopping short in her doorway, worried he would find her there, but it was empty. He sighed again.  _ Some battle mage I am, _ he thought.  _ Afraid of a lady. ...My lady.  _ He’d nearly broken himself of the habit of calling her that, but he couldn’t stop thinking it, even though she insisted she was no longer a noble, even though the room’s furnishings were simple and common. She had filled the room with color - the embroidered curtains, the ribbons hanging from a wreath of dried honeysuckle vine, the flowers in the vase on the dresser - but there was no dressing up the plainness of the furnishings themselves, of the house that held them.

_ No matter. Just leave the letter and go.  _ He pulled it from his pocket, crossing to her bed, and stopped again, his hand and the envelope in it hovering inches above the quilt when he saw her and little Ben through the window. She wore her white robe with a butter-yellow scarf over her shoulders - she always had a scarf, always said white was too plain. The boy, named after Iris’s brother, wore a long-sleeved tunic despite the early summer warmth, the better to cover his scars. Beneath the brittlewood tree behind the house, she was teaching him to dance - not the country dances the people of Crescent Lake performed during festivals and holidays, but a court dance from Cornelia. 

_ She should be back there, at the royal court, instead of this village in the middle of nowhere,  _ Cedric thought. He’d fallen in love with her watching her dance with her brother at the Midsummer festival when they were thirteen. He still hadn’t told her. Twelve years since he met her, ten since they fled the city together, and he still hadn’t told her. Watching her dance in the yard with the boy they both loved, he could feel his resolve slipping. The letter suddenly seemed foolishly inadequate.

He felt a shift in the aether, and knew without looking that Iris’s father stood in the doorway behind him. “Is it true?” the old man asked. “You’re really going?”

Cedric was surprised at the concern in his voice.  _ I thought he hated me. _ He didn’t turn around, kept watching Iris through the window. “I’m the only one who can, Lukahn. It has to be me.”  

“Don’t give me that!” Lukahn snapped. “This has Torberm written all over it! If he’s so keen on returning to Cornelia, why can’t he do it?”

“You know why.” Cedric didn’t raise his voice. The aether got away from him if he was too free with his emotions, so he had learned to hold all of them inside. Anger, frustration…  _ Love, _ he thought, dropping the letter on the bed at last. “We can’t keep waiting here for this mess to blow over. Torberm’s contacts say it’s only getting worse.”

“Of course it is! The prophecies-”

“You know how I feel about your prophecies,” Cedric said, cutting him off.  _ Our death will come from that mountain. _ Half the village believed that particular prophecy was about Ben, though the boy himself had been on the verge of death when Iris brought him home. Only two other white mages - two! Out of the whole village! - agreed to help her heal him, a long, grueling process that had taken most of a year to complete. Ben, perhaps five years old at the time, had endured it without complaint, without speaking at all - some sort of shock, Iris said. It had been many months more before the boy had said a word to anyone. 

Even now, Ben was a quiet child who mostly kept to himself, spending his time with either Iris or Cedric. The other villagers were afraid of him, without even knowing what he was. They called him Ashward, as if his burns were somehow related to the prophecy. Cedric had been the one to explain to him that their fear had nothing to do with his appearance - oh, how the boy had cried to hear it. The suffering Ben had faced because of that stupid prophecy, on top of whatever had happened to him on Mount Gulug… A breeze stirred the ribbons on the wreath near the window.  _ Don’t think about it now. _ Cedric moved toward the door. “I have to go,” he said.  

Lukahn took up the doorway, intentionally blocking him in. “But…  _ joining _ them, Cedric…”

“You know they're too strong for us. If we can break them from the inside-”

Lukahn scoffed, “Benjamin thought the same thing.”

“Benjamin was a scholar,” Cedric said. The breeze rattled the window, trying to get out. “I’m a battle mage. Let me pass.”

But Lukahn stood his ground, moving to block him once more. “Do you even care what it will do to her if you leave? She's already lost a brother to this useless war.”

_ So have I, _ he thought. That had been part of the problem when they were teenagers, hadn't it? If Benjamin had been a brother to him, what did that make Iris? “I’m doing this for her. Her and Ben both.” 

“And who will train the boy? Who will teach him how to use this thing if you go?” His voice was calm, rational, but Lukahn couldn't keep from sneering when he mentioned Ben. 

“I’ve taught him to control it,” Cedric said, trying with the last ragged edges of his patience to stop the storm raging inside him from bursting out. The errant breeze tugged the hem of his coat, fluttered the curtains. “And he's a damn sight better at it than I am. I’ll teach him to use it when he's older.”

He cast one last glance behind him, out the window where they danced. He watched as Ben stepped left when he should have stepped right, bumping into Iris who laughed and threw her arms around the boy.  _ Everything I love in all the world is under that tree,  _ he thought, shutting his eyes against the corona forming there until he could regain control. When he opened them again, the old man was staring at him. 

“I wish you’d give him a chance. We can’t help what we are,” Cedric said. 

Then he tore himself away, pushing past Lukahn and down the stairs. The ship was waiting. 

* * *

_ The Groves, Present Day _

Kane tripped as Refial bumped into him again, hard, while cringing away from a rustling in the dense undergrowth. “Bahamut, man! It was only a bird! You can’t possibly be this much of a coward,” Kane said.

The thin pirate glared at him. “I am! I told you I was! I told you I should have stayed with the ship, but none of you listened!”

“Yes, well, you shouldn’t have proven yourself so useful in that sahagin fight,” said Lord Redden from a few paces behind them. “Skills like yours could come in handy on a journey like this.”

“I myself enjoyed the rabbits you procured for our dinner two nights past,” Lord Orin put in.

“Yes,” Jack agreed from the front of their short line. “It’s quite the hunting technique: casting Sleep at random bushes and seeing what sticks.”

Refial blushed. “I can’t help it. It’s a reflex.” 

Kane laughed, glad to see Jack in such fine humor again. The mage had been rather glum when they set out from Elfheim two days ago, but Refial, heedless of Jack’s mood, had kept up a stream of good-natured chatter that seemed to have lifted his spirits. By the time of the rabbit incident, just before they made their first camp, Jack had laughed as hard as the rest of them. He had even been willing to remove his scarf long enough to eat in Refial’s presence, which spoke volumes about Jack’s opinion of the pirate as far as Kane was concerned. And although Refial had stared at Jack’s scars, he hadn’t mentioned them then or since, making Kane like him even more. He clapped the thin man on the back to show there were no hard feelings. Refial nodded his thanks, and the two of them kept walking. 

The woods were thick here in the area the elves called the groves. According to Kane’s father, this land was supposed to be sacred to the goddess Asura, which all the stories called “Life Bringer,” though the same stories all agreed that she was dead, having pined away for her mortal lover. Despite Refial’s fears, nothing about the groves was reckoned to be particularly dangerous. Many elves traveled through them, living off the land for weeks at a time in a sort of religious pilgrimage meant to bring them closer to their mother goddess, but Kane hadn’t seen a trace of another living soul since they’d left the city. Either the elves were skilled at leaving the land just as they found it, or they were far from those grounds the elves normally frequented.

As sunset approached, another sound echoed through the trees, a trilling “kupo-kupo” that Kane didn’t recognize but that surely was not a bird. It startled him, but not as much as it did Refial. The pirate yelped. Another call seemed to answer the first. Kane tried to play it off, but his voice shook when he asked his father, “What was that? It sounded close.”

“That’s nothing to worry about,” Redden said. Kane heard him tell Orin, “Sometimes I wonder how I ended up with such a city boy for a son.”

“Maybe because you raised me in the gods-blighted city, old man!” Kane said. His father scowled, but Orin chuckled.

“Now you listen here, boy-” Redden began, but just then Jack cried out in alarm. Kane looked ahead, noticing that the tall mage was not as tall as he ought to be - he seemed to have stepped in a hole up to his ankles, a swampy sort of muck that closed up around his feet. 

Jack stepped back onto level ground, looking at his boots, at the thick mud he couldn’t seem to shake off. “I didn’t see it until I stepped in it,” he said, looking down. There was no change at all in the path: the holes where he’d stepped - rapidly filling in now, as if the earth flowed like water - were the only sign that the ground ahead of him was not as solid as that behind. He lifted a foot, swiping at the sludge with his gloves, then nearly lost his balance as he recoiled from the smell. He gagged, coughing. “Ramuh hanulassa!” he said, muttering a rapid string of other Leifenish words.

“Lad, what did I tell you about using that sort of language?” Redden said sternly, stepping up beside him to look at the muddy patch.

Jack coughed once more, moaning in disgust as he wiped his glove on his leather coat. “Your own son just blasphemed in plain speech right in front of you!”

“Yes, but I’ve already given up on him. For you, I still have hope,” said the bard, kneeling down, running a finger through the sludge and giving it a cautious whiff. He frowned, but otherwise didn’t react to the smell that Jack apparently found so offensive. 

“Is it the Rot?” Orin asked.

Redden nodded, wiping the muck off on the hem of his shirt, then stood. “Head back thirty paces. We’ll camp there.”

“There’s still daylight yet,” Jack said.

Redden shook his head. “We don’t know how far this goes, and we don’t want to camp in the middle of it. It could be only a few feet,” he said, looking about at the trees that surrounded them as if trying to judge their condition. “Or it could go on for miles. Either way, we’ll face it in the morning, with a full day’s light ahead of us.”

Jack nodded, turning back the way they came as if he didn’t need to be told twice. Kane sniffed the air, but didn’t smell anything. He looked toward Refial, shrugging, and only then noticed Refial’s grimace. The thin man had gone pale, as if he might be sick.

By the time sunset came, though, when they’d built a fire and sat on the ground around it together eating from the rations they’d brought, the pirate seemed to have recovered; he was full of energy as he told them the story of how he left home. “They thought I was crazy, seeing things that weren’t there! And grandfather, he turns to his wife and says, ‘I don’t know how all of these bastards keep taking after  _ your _ side of the family!’”

It should not have been funny - the way his grandfather had kept him secluded in the manor to avoid the scandal of his supposed insanity, until he’d escaped - but Refial was a natural storyteller, and his self-deprecating wit had Kane and his father both laughing until it hurt. Even Orin had guffawed in places, and the old monk never laughed aloud at anything.

“And it never occurred to any of them that you were seeing the aether?” Jack asked, sitting beside the pirate. His face was uncovered again as they ate, and though his scars pulled at the left side of his mouth, his smile was broad.

“Not at all! The merchant class is notoriously light on mages in Gaia. They’re viewed as, I don’t know, unseemly, I guess you could say. Next step above servants.” He wiped at his eyes, where he’d laughed so hard at his own tale that tears had sprung up. “Oh, if grandfather could see me now: both a pirate  _ and _ a black mage? I think that vein in his forehead would burst. He’d die of blood loss before he’d lower himself to visit a white mage.”

It didn’t escape Kane’s notice that at the mention of white mages, the smile on Jack’s face subsided. The mage stared at the fire, covering his chin in one gloved hand as if suddenly self-conscious of his scars.

Refial, oblivious as always, elbowed Jack in the side, grinning and waggling his eyebrows. “Speaking of white mages, you seem to get on pretty well with ours.”

“Lay off,” Jack muttered. 

“Oh, come, now! You’re not still worried about leaving her behind, are you? Surely you don’t think a lady like her needs to be out in these woods?” As if on cue, another “kupo!” came echoing out of the forest; the pirate flinched.

“She’d fare better than you have,” Jack said. “I think she’d be safer with us. That’s all.”

Lord Redden finished the mouthful of dried meat he was eating, and said, “The girl’s a soul reader, lad. The only danger she’s likely to face in that castle is a bit of gossip and intrigue, and she’s better equipped to play that game than any of us.”

Refial sat up straighter. “That’s not the first time you’ve mentioned soul readers. What does that mean, exactly?”

“It’s the rarest sort of white mage there is,” Redden explained. “There might only be two or three born in a generation. Lena is one of them. She can feel the emotions of others.”

“Pain, too,” Jack said, quietly. “I think she feels it when others are hurt in her presence.”

“You never mentioned that before,” said Kane, remembering Pravoka and how he had beat a pirate bloody while Lena worked to heal a man beside him.  _ A man with a stomach wound that would have killed him, _ he thought.  _ Had she felt that? _

The black mage shook his head. “I only suspect it. I haven’t asked her. But I believe I’ve seen it more than once.”

Kane’s father frowned, tilting his head the way he did when he was solving a riddle. “It’s not beyond the realm of possibility. Cornelia’s royal archives mention soul readers with similar skills, but no two soul readers have ever had exactly the same talents.” He noticed Refial gazing at him blankly and explained,  “For three hundred years, the Cornelian court has employed every soul reader to pass through White Hall. They’re politically invaluable. One look at your soul, and they can tell nearly everything about you.”

Refial’s eyes widened in unmistakable horror. He licked his lips, but his throat sounded dry as he said, “That’s what she did in Pravoka?”

“It is,” said Redden.

“If she saw all of that…” Refial trailed off, shuddering slightly. 

There was shame there, Kane realized, deep shame, something in Refial’s past perhaps that he didn’t want anyone to know.  _ How bad could it be if she chose him anyway? _ he thought.

Jack looked at Refial in what might have been concern. The pirate smiled, albeit less brightly than before. He patted Jack’s shoulder and said, “No wonder she prefers your company, friend.”

The black mage shifted his gaze back to the fire, grinning, but then a voice said, “She doesn’t. I’m afraid you’re imagining it.” Jack’s head snapped up. Kane could read the shock in his eyes, the hurt, as he looked at Lord Redden across the flames.

“Father, don’t,” Kane said.

“He needs to know. As well tell him now when she’s not here.” Redden ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face, but he didn’t look at Jack as he spoke. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him. “Soul readers don’t have emotions. They only reflect the feelings of those around them. I know you care for her. I’ve seen the way you act around her. But she feels nothing for you, not on her own.”

Jack’s hurt expression was replaced with one of incomprehension. He shook his head, saying, “No, she feels things. I know she does.”

Redden sighed, the same sigh he’d used when Kane was a child and hadn’t done his chores, the sigh of a man forced to do his fatherly duty when punishment was in order. “This isn’t speculation, boy. It’s proven fact. Years of magical research in Cornelia’s archives attest to it. If you try to love her, it may seem like she loves you back, but it would be an empty, meaningless love.” 

“You’re wrong. I know her. How can you think such a thing after spending any time with her at all? She feels.” Jack looked at Kane then, his eyes desperate. “Kane, tell him.”

Kane felt a moment’s panic at being put on the spot, his father on one side and Jack on the other, both looking at him expectantly. He didn’t know what he would say. A dozen thoughts flooded his mind, clamoring for his attention, but the one that won out over the others was an image of Lena that day by the lagoon, smiling while Shipman was smiling beside her even though she had been as angry as Kane had been a short time before.  _ Angry when I was angry, brave when I was brave.  _ “I’m sorry, Jack, but I think Father is right.”

The look of betrayal in Jack’s face stung.

From Refial’s other side, Orin said gently, “Lord Redden and I spent considerable time in the company of the king’s last soul reader. What he’s telling you is true.” 

_ Yes,  _ Kane thought. _ Father would never have told me about Lady Aliana if it wasn’t true. _

Jack was breathing harder now, but his face had gone completely blank. When he spoke, his voice was as calm as a still winter morning after a night of frost. “I see. You’re all of one mind on this, is that how it is?” He looked between the three of them, ignoring Refial altogether. Nobody spoke. “Tell me this, then, gentlemen: if she doesn’t feel, why was she so overcome with guilt when she nearly stove that pirate’s head in? Whose guilt was she reflecting then if not her own?”

_ She was alone when we found her, _ Kane thought, remembering how she cried in his arms, great wracking sobs so hard she could barely breathe.  _ She was alone.  _ He looked to his father, but Lord Redden was looking at Jack now.

Jack stood. He took a deep breath, and with that even his breathing was controlled again. His face, his posture, his voice, nothing about him betrayed any emotion at all. “I refuse to believe it. She feels,” he said, turning and walking off into the trees.

Kane watched him leave, started to get up and go after him, but before he could get to his feet, his father grabbed his arm, keeping him down. “Let him go, son,” Lord Redden said. 

“I don’t see why you had to tell him,” said Refial. “Even if it’s true, with a face like that, he’s not bound to have many chances.”

“It’s better if he knows,” said Redden, but his grimace showed just how sour the words were in his mouth. 

_ Is it better? _ Kane wondered, remembering Lady Aliana, wishing he didn’t know the truth himself. 

* * *

“Thadius saw the aether again yesterday. That’s twice now,” Lena said. Her hands glowed as she worked, clearing Aryon’s lungs again. Soon she would move on to his legs, keeping the blood flowing, keeping the muscles from wasting away. 

It was her fourth day at the castle, and she was developing a routine. In the mornings, while Thad received magic lessons from Gollor, Lena worked to maintain Aryon’s health. It was easy work, though time consuming, and she talked as she did it, rambling on about whatever crossed her mind: her home, her life in Cornelia, her friends and the prophecy that had brought them together. The prince responded with enthusiastic interest - he’d been so lonely and so bored - but his improved mood did nothing to improve his condition. 

In the afternoons, she shifted her attention to the curse. That was not so simple a task, like trying to untangle a skein of yarn that had been out in a hurricane. It took all of her concentration, so Thadius had taken it upon himself to keep the prince entertained. Gollor had lent him Aryon’s favorite book, a collection of Leifenish legends, and Thad would sit in the chair beside the bed reading aloud from it while Lena worked. She felt she hadn’t even begun to scratch the surface of the curse.  _ If I had several months to work on it, _ she thought,  _ or if I didn’t have to spend so much energy healing him in the mornings... _ She shooed the thought away. “Anyway, Thadius is thrilled. He can’t wait to tell Jack.”

She could feel Aryon’s amusement, a surge of it that she interpreted as a laugh, followed by confusion, something along the lines of “Why would Jack care?”

“Oh, he was working with Thadius on basic black magic before we left Pravoka. I don’t think they made much progress before our ship was damaged - I told you about that yesterday - and then we were all too busy for things like that.”

_ Understanding. _ She could almost picture the prince saying, “Ah, I see.”

“I know I’ve mentioned how shy he is - Jack, I mean - but you should hear him talk about magic. He’s like a different person. He… It’s like he forgets to hold back.” She started in on Aryon’s right calf, kneading the muscles as the healing spell flowed from her fingertips. “Sometimes I think about what we’ll all be doing when the prophecy of the Warriors of Light is behind us. I can picture Jack teaching somewhere. Not a classroom setting - I don’t think he would do well with a crowd - but perhaps tutoring…”

She sensed mild interest from Aryon, something like a nod encouraging her to continue.

“Kane, though... I can’t see Kane doing anything but returning home to Cornelia. He would never have left it, you know, if not for the prophecy. He aches for it sometimes, though he doesn’t let on.” She shifted her healing to the left leg, letting her mouth run as she worked away, needing to talk perhaps as much as he needed someone to talk to him. “I think his father knows... I’m sure I’ve never seen a man so baffled by his own son. The two of them don’t think alike at all. I think Redden forgets sometimes that he’s not at court anymore.”

A thought crossed her mind and her power flared in response, the magical equivalent of tripping. “I’m…” She stopped, took a deep breath, continued. “I’m supposed to go back with them, when this is done. To the Cornelian court. It’s all been arranged. I’ll have rooms down the hall from the princess herself. I always thought I’d be going to... not back to Onlac, not necessarily, but a country village somewhere where I could do some good, somewhere near the sea… I hadn’t planned to stay in the city forever.”

He felt sorry for her, but it was faint, so faint. She was losing him again. Sometimes the bit of him that was Aryon pulled away deep inside, as if he were really sleeping. She sighed, trying not to begrudge him his rest. Even if his body was trapped in sleep, his mind needed it too. By the time she’d finished healing him for the day, she sensed nothing more from him, save for a faint hum that meant he was dreaming.

She sat on the edge of the bed, watching him sleep, knowing he couldn’t hear her now, and the silence in the room was deafening. She said, “I wish you could speak to me. I know you’ve been lonely, and that you’re enjoying the sound of another voice, but I would love to hear yours.” 

She heard a rattling from the hall and turned toward the door in time to see Thadius arrive bearing a tray for her. “Hello!” he said, smiling. He’d obviously had a good morning.

“What have you brought me today?” she said.

“Some kind of white fish,” he said, setting it on the side table nearest her. “Hello, Prince Aryon. Are you ready for chapter seven?”

“He can’t hear you right now, Thadius. He’s truly sleeping.” 

“Oh.” The boy eyed the book he’d left in his usual chair with disappointment - he was enjoying the legends - but then he smiled, growing excited. “Well, if he’s asleep, we don’t need to keep him company, right? Do you want to go swimming? I found a great place.”

She nearly choked on her mouthful of fish. “Yes, I’d love that.” She focused her power on Aryon for a moment, but found him deeply asleep. He wouldn’t miss her. “Let’s go.”

“Uh-uh,” Thad said, crossing his arms and looking reproachfully at her as he nodded toward her plate. “You eat it all. Kane said I had to take care of you.” 

She sighed, gulping down the meal as quickly as good manners allowed. 

He led her out of the castle then. Thadius gave a friendly little wave to the guards on the gate, who smiled and nodded as they passed. “I met them earlier,” he explained. “Segeth gave me a sword lesson and took me on patrol with her.”

“Oh?” Lena asked. “What happened to magic lessons?”

“Gollor was busy,” he said, shrugging.

He led her through the city, down shaded and tree-lined streets, to an area where the buildings were spread farther apart and then to an area where there weren’t any buildings at all. The street became a path, and the path led to a gate in a short wooden fence enclosing what she thought must be a flower garden until she realized it was a graveyard. Headstones and statues of the same white stone as the castle glittered in the sunlight, the names and dates carved into them not at all faded though some of them had been there for centuries.

She hadn’t realized she’d stopped to stare until Thadius grabbed her hand to pull her along. “Come on!” he said. “It’s over here!”

She noticed the stream then, just to the south of a pillared tomb. The land dipped away from the monument so that the stream pooled there, deep enough to take a dip. It wasn’t really swimming, she thought as she and Thad stripped down to their underclothes and settled into the water, but the weather was perfect for it, with spring edging into summer at last. She hadn’t met many people at the castle, hadn't felt overwhelmed by the emotions yet, but still, it had been days since she’d been in the water. She ducked under, sitting on the bottom and holding her breath, watching the play of sunlight shimmering above her as the buzz inside her head began to calm at last, until it was just her again. She broke the surface with a gasp, or a sigh, feeling the water drip over her face.

Feeling better, she turned to Thad, who was on the bank, looking very intently at a frog. “How did you find this place, Thadius? You weren’t wandering the city alone, were you?”

He shook his head, but spoke absently, focused on the small animal in the mud. “Segeth brought me. She thought I’d like to see Erdrick’s tomb.” He pointed at the monument above them. “I noticed the water and thought you’d like it.”

“I do,” she said. “Very much.” 

By the time they’d laid in the grass beneath the elaborate tomb and let the sun dry them out before they dressed again, by the time they’d walked back to the castle where the same guards were still on duty at the gate, Aryon was still dreaming. Thadius sat in the chair by the bed reading silently to himself while Lena worked on the curse once more, but the sun and the water had taken their toll. When she started yawning well before sunset, Thad led her to the kitchens, insisting again that she eat a proper meal, then accompanied her back to the room they shared, its two halves laid out almost like mirror images of each other, with two of everything in deference to the twins who had once lived there. 

That night, she dreamed about Jack. The two of them walked together through the rain in Pravoka. The water poured over her hair and down her back, rinsing away the buzz in the back of her mind, the accumulated feelings of the people who lived there, leaving her only with her own. Beside her, the rain drops shattered into a fine mist against her rain-repelling Protect spell, making Jack blur around the edges. 

That was very like how it had gone in reality, but in the dream, she could also feel the mage beside her, his normally guarded feelings as open and clear to her as a child’s. He was happy. As he looked down at her on his arm, his eyes pinched in a smile hidden by his scarf.

In reality, they had walked in the heavy rain down the big bridge, from the inn to the city entrance and back, seeing no one else, the whole city theirs alone, but in the dream they didn’t go back to the inn. Instead, he stopped her in the courtyard at the cross street, caught her up in his long arms, and held her close as dawn broke around them. His chin rested on top of her head, and his sigh of contentment echoed her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _8/19/16: When you start the game, it tells you, “The world is veiled in darkness. The wind stops, the sea is wild, and the earth begins to rot.” None of the NPCs talk about the whole “rot” thing until you get to Melmond, on your way to the Earth Cave, but the marshy area surrounding Melmond? It’s identical to the marsh around the Marsh Cave south of Elfheim. I know the 8-bit graphics back in the day were limited in what they could do and the game designers probably meant to imply the “Marsh Cave” was actually just in a marsh, but I always imagined it looked like that because of the “rot”. Now you can imagine it too. You’re welcome._


	24. Dark World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Dark World from Final Fantasy VI. Click[here](https://youtu.be/1J8fCN13tZQ) for the original, [here](https://youtu.be/8p1CkrUXE0Y) for a slow-to-start orchestral version which is worth your time (seriously, give it a minute), or [here](https://youtu.be/B-RrfEVKp8E) for another (better) orchestral version that you really need to have in your life._

_ Crescent Lake, Five Years Ago _

Lukahn wept, and when he couldn’t weep anymore, he dried his eyes and saw to the arrangements. The boy tried to tell him she should be buried beneath the brittlewood tree behind the house, but Lukahn would hear none of it. She was  _ his _ daughter; he knew better than anyone how she should leave this world. The white mages had dressed her in her hooded robe, but they had included her favorite scarf, the red one, at Lukahn’s insistence - on this, at least, he and the boy agreed. 

One by one, the villagers walked past the platform where she was laid out, paying their last respects. It was not in the nature of white mages to seek praise, but by all the gods, she deserved it. Not a soul among them hadn’t been touched by her healing. She’d healed more these past few years than any two white mages in the village, perhaps more than any three. How did no one notice that she needed healing more than any of them?

Some of the villagers left gifts on the platform around her, flowers - she had always loved bright colors - and letters to burn away with her when the pyre was lit. Many approached Lukahn as they passed, murmuring words of comfort and condolence, though most looked askance at the boy, who stood silently beside him. 

The boy she cared for was a young man now, springing up like a weed. He’d be a tall one when he was done growing, if he ever stopped. Ben, she had called him, though Lukahn hated to think of the boy by that name. “Promise me you won’t turn him out.” Those had been her last words. She lay there dying, and even then she put someone else’s needs above her own. _We only ever argued about_ _him,_ Lukahn thought. His son had been rebellious and willful, but Iris never had. Dutiful, respectful, in every regard except this one: she would have faced the knights of Bahamut for that boy. _If I could take back every cross word I ever said to her…_ But it was too late. _How pointless it all seems now._

When the last solemn mourner had filed past the wooden platform, the boy stepped toward the unlit pyre. He wore one of her scarves wrapped around his damaged face, a yellow one that Lukahn knew she had given him before she died, after the white mages had told her there was nothing more they could do. The boy pulled the scarf down long enough to bend over her and kiss her cheek, then said something in her ear, but Lukahn was too far away and the boy spoke too quietly. From his pocket, the boy produced a letter that he placed under her folded hands, and Lukahn didn’t have to see it up close to know it was Cedric’s letter, the one Iris kept and read over and over until the paper was thin and soft as a flower petal. She had never let Lukahn read it; he wondered if the boy had done so. 

_ Their fault, _ he thought. They’d killed his son, these dark mages, and the love of them had killed his daughter. It was only after they received word of Cedric’s death in Cornelia that she’d grown so thin and thrown herself into her work.  _ I should have seen it sooner, _ Lukahn thought.  _ As many healings as she did, I should have known she was drawing the aether.  _ There was a reason those rare white mages with the talent were discouraged from using it: it could only ever end one way.  _ I should have stopped her before it poisoned her. Why didn’t I see it? _

He felt tears welling in his eyes again, blurring his vision when the boy came to stand beside him once more. Lukahn nodded toward Randell, the fire mage, who made a sign with one hand in front of him. The kindling at the pyre’s base ignited slowly and gently under Randell’s focused control until the flames engulfed it completely. The heat became intense, hot enough that Lukahn took a step away, but to his surprise, the boy remained where he was. Lukahn knew the boy was afraid of fire; he hadn’t expected him to stay and watch the pyre burn.

Lukahn reached out then, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Come away, boy. It’s over.”

The boy glanced at him, the yellow scarf hanging loose around his face, and his eyes were dry, as though he felt nothing. He spoke quietly, so quietly that it was hard to make out his words over the roar of the flames. “What will happen to me?”

Lukahn sighed. The boy surely knew Lukahn never cared for him. Lukahn wasn’t sure he could - he knew what the boy was - but Iris had made him promise. “You needn’t worry about yourself, Ben,” he said, though calling the boy by his dead son’s name galled him. “My home remains open to you.” 

The boy shook his head, looking toward the fire once more. “Jack,” he said. “My name is Jack.”

* * *

  


_ West of the groves, Present Day _

Jack stumbled, distracted, unprepared to find solid ground between one step and the next, so focused was he on keeping his stomach from rioting. They were past the groves now in a scrubbier forest curving away to the north, well into the afternoon of their second day of crossing the Rot. They had seen areas where the trees were all dying or dead; many had fallen over, their roots reaching skyward almost pleadingly as the soft and soggy ground could no longer hold them. The trees that surrounded them now, though, were still standing. 

Jack bent over, letting his head hang down as he braced his hands on his thighs, wanting to take great heaving breaths but unable to force his lungs to do more than pant shallowly. He felt a hand on the back of his neck, felt a Cure settling into him, and was able to take one full breath before the smell made him moan. Lord Redden walked away without waiting for any thanks. Not that Jack would have given him any; he hadn’t spoken to the bard since that night by the campfire, had barely spoken to any of them. 

He hadn’t seen the Rot when he passed through Melmond, only heard rumors of the way it ravaged the countryside. Those rumors left out one important detail: the Rot was no blight, no disease. It was a corruption of the aether, and as a mage, Jack felt it worse than the others: a horrible smell, a ringing in his ears. He suspected it wouldn’t have been so bad if the effects of the ritual had held. The thing he’d done that made it easier to ignore the aether had worn off slowly in the days that followed. By now, it was gone, and the Rot-infested aether pressed in on him from all sides. He missed his staff. The little knife was not as powerful as a focus object, but he’d taken to wearing it in his belt, walking with his hand on the hilt in an effort to tame the aether as much as possible.

Refial and Redden were also affected, though not as badly; Refial complained of the smell often and loudly, while Redden walked with his jaw clenched, mouth pressed into a thin line. Kane and Orin, however, suffered nothing worse than being coated in mud up to their knees. “Almost there,” Jack heard Redden say to one of the others. “I think that might be it over that rise.”

Through a break in the trees, Jack noticed an angle atop a hill on the northern horizon that might have been the peak of a roof.  _ Almost there, _ he repeated to himself as he drove one foot in front of the other,  _ almost there.  _ It was easier with each step; though the smell still plagued him, and the aether still felt wrong, the ground here was healthy.

He felt almost normal by the time they crested the rise and saw there the place Gollor had described for them, but then Lord Redden grabbed his arm and cast another Cure. Jack looked at him questioningly, too surprised by how good he felt to complain. He was brought up short by the kindness in Redden’s eyes - Jack had been so angry at the bard, it hadn’t occurred to him that Redden was not angry at him as well. “What…” he started to say.

“You’re a Warrior of Light. I need you at your best for this,” said Redden, giving his arm a squeeze before he let go.

Jack took a deep breath for the first time in two days. “Yes, sir.”

The castle the elves called the Western Keep had been a Leifenish embassy once, in the days when Leifen’s airships filled the sky and Elfheim was only a short journey away by air, but now it had been unused for centuries because of its distance from the elvish capital. Like many Leifenish ruins, it had aged well: the wards and protective spells that kept it standing were obviously still in effect, except where one corner of the castle’s foundation was lost to the Rot on the western side, the walls in that area crumbling. 

As they approached the huge front door, it opened before them, revealing a human man in black mage robes who bowed deeply. He was perhaps in his thirties, with a shaved head, but with a growth of stubble on both his head and his face that said he was overdue for his next shave. He smiled warmly at all of them. “My lords. You’re just in time. We hoped you would arrive before dinner.”

“You were expecting us?” Kane asked.

“Yes, of course. We read your arrival in the aether. Come, Lord Astos is anxious to meet you.”

The man introduced himself as Grifford and led them down long hallways, talking all the while, pointing out the castle’s decor as they passed. Jack was too worn out from the journey to take it all in, but it was impressive: art, tapestries, and magical artifacts were lovingly displayed on pedestals alongside items significant to elvish history, crowns and swords and suits of armor. Jack saw what he thought might have been a Leifenish seeing stone, a rare bit of spellwork that allowed a black mage to read the aether over a great distance. The making of seeing stones was lost when Leifen fell, but Grifford passed it by without comment as if it weren’t worth noticing, just another piece of the extensive collection. 

They came to a throne room laid out more like a library than a royal court, with plush carpets piled high on the floors, and more antiques scattered between and among shelves laden with books. A table under a huge window in one corner held the tools for potion making: jars, herb scissors, and stubby candles beside a short wooden rack with vials of various sizes. Across the room under a similar window, another table held papers, quills, and ink jars, a fat book lying open in front of the only chair. It was in that chair rather than the throne centered along the back wall that a well-dressed elf sat waiting for them. He stood, smiling, when Jack and his companions came in, then strode forth to greet them, shaking hands with each of them in turn.

“Welcome, my lords! Astos Lorien, at your service,” he said. He was a full hand taller than Jack, the points of his ears only just visible through a mane of shaggy blond hair. He smiled broader as he shook Jack’s hand, looking him over. “What an uncommon pleasure it is to host a battle mage in my humble home! I haven’t seen one of your kind in a long count of years!”

Jack looked down at his mud-spattered leather coat, resisting the urge to check the lay of his collar. He noticed Kane looking sideways at him, confusion writ plain on his face.  _ He doesn’t know the coat’s significance, _ Jack realized.  _ There are no battle mages left.  _ “I’m no battle mage,” he said. “The attire is… something of an inheritance.”

Astos bowed slightly, seeming disappointed. “My mistake!” When he stood straight again, his excitement at their arrival seemed no less than it had before. “What brings you all this way, gentlemen?” he asked, but he laughed before they could answer. “And forgive me, but who are you? We read your coming in the aether, of course, but the aether is notoriously selfish with the details.”

“Forgive the intrusion,” said Redden. “I’m Redden Carmine, third council lord of Cornelia.” He motioned to each of them as he made introductions. “This is Orin Tantal, also a third council lord; Refial Fortem, of Gaia; my son, Kane Carmine, a soldier of the Cornelian guard; and this is Jack Ashward of Crescent Lake.”

Astos and Grifford laughed. Astos cocked his head at Jack, smile still mirthful. “Surely that’s not your real name?” 

It was one of those times Jack was glad of the scarf that covered his face, for suddenly he knew everything he needed to know about these mages. He didn’t need Lena here to tell him; he’d met plenty like them back home. He tried to speak casually, but even to his ears it sounded forced. “If I have another, I don’t know it.”

Astos shrugged. “It’s no matter, I’m sure. That still leaves the question of why you're here.”

“I have a sealed letter from an elf named Cotto,” said Jack, retrieving it from an inner pocket of his coat. 

“Cotto?” said Astos. An expression of surprise and worry flashed across his face, quickly replaced with that same smile. “I see. Cotto is a trusted friend. He wouldn’t have sent you if it wasn’t important.” He took the letter, but didn’t open it. “Gentlemen, you’ve had a long road. I’ve prepared rooms for you. Relax and rest for a while. We’ll sound a chime when dinner is ready; we can talk then. Grifford?”

The black mage who had shown them in said, “This way, my lords,” and led them out to the castle’s maze-like hallways again.

Kane walked beside Jack. “Did I miss something?” the guardsman said when they were some distance from the cluttered throne room. “What’s so unusual about your name?”

“It’s nothing,” Jack said.

“It isn’t a name at all,” Lord Redden said from behind them where he walked with Orin. “The first time I heard it, I assumed you were giving a fake name to the mage council in Cornelia, but then you never gave us another one. I never asked why.” To Kane, he said, “An ashward is a spell component that gets burned up in the course of casting the spell.”

“Jack!” Kane said, his face a mix of shock and disgust. “Why would you choose such a name for yourself?”

Jack sighed. “I didn’t choose it. It’s what the people of Crescent Lake call me. It seemed as good a name as any.”

“It isn’t!” Kane said, an edge of frustration raising the volume of his voice so that Grifford and Refial, walking ahead of them, turned back briefly to see what the fuss was about.

“Hush, boy,” said Redden. Then, in a gentler tone, he said, “You could, you know. Choose one for yourself. You don’t have to take what they’ve given you.”

Jack kept his eyes forward, unable to look at either of them. The things they’d said the other night… He’d struggled with his anger for nearly two days. How was he supposed to respond to the concern they were showing him now?

“Here we are,” Grifford said, sparing Jack from having to reply. They turned a corner into a hallway with a row of doors, five of them open onto what appeared to be simple guest quarters. “There are clean clothes for you... Only some spare mage robes, I’m afraid. It’s all we have, but it will do long enough for us to clean what you’re wearing. Just, uh, leave those anywhere,” he said, making a face as he gestured toward their mud-encrusted garments. “Give me a moment to heat the baths for you and I’ll leave you to your rest.” Grifford made the sign of the staff, drawing the aether. Jack looked into the nearest rooms and noticed each had a huge copper tub, already full and beginning to steam from the spell. 

When Grifford nodded in satisfaction, bowed, and left, Jack entered the first room, closing the door behind him before the others could say anything else.  

* * *

Kane felt ridiculous. He was practically swimming in the black robes.  _ How do mages wear these things? _ he thought, shaking his arms in the voluminous sleeves, contemplating the impossibility of drawing his sword. There was no mirror in the room, but he didn’t need one to know that the sword belt around his middle did not improve his appearance.  _ Oh, well, _ he thought when a chime sounded somewhere in the castle. At least he was clean. He sighed, casting one last glance at his muddy clothes and boots where he’d left them in the floor, then he stepped barefoot out into the hall. 

Refial was already there, darting glances up and down the corridor as though he were worried about an attack. His eyes widened when he saw Kane, his face slowly taken over by a hearty grin. “You should see yourself!” he said.

“Me?” Kane said, unable to keep from laughing. “What about you?” Though his own robes were large, on Refial’s thin frame they were monstrous, as if the pirate had wrapped himself in bed sheets. “You may need to reconsider this whole black mage thing.”

Orin and Redden joined them next, both wearing similar robes. Kane tried to school his expression out of respect for his elders, but Refial laughed so joyfully that he wasn’t able to hold it in. He hadn’t often seen black mages back home and had always thought their outfits were strange. Seeing his father in one was like seeing the man perform a part in a play. 

“Honestly, I don’t think they look half bad,” Redden said, though he grinned as he looked down at himself. Orin smiled so broadly that his wrinkled face scrunched up like a prune.

Their laughter trailed off when the last door opened and Jack emerged. He’d left his hat behind but was otherwise dressed in his usual clothes, all as clean and pressed as if he’d just bought them from the tailor’s, along with the blue scarf Sarah had given him in Cornelia. In that coat, surrounded by his shoeless, be-robed companions, he looked to be the only one among them worth taking seriously.  _ Dressed like a “battle mage,” _ Kane thought. He didn’t know what that was, but he realized for the first time that Jack could easily fight in what he was wearing. 

Kane watched Jack’s characteristic shyness set in when he noticed them all watching him. The mage looked at the floor. Kane looked about the hallway. “Where do you suppose our guide is?” he asked.

Jack sighed. “I think they’re testing me.”

“I think you’re right,” Kane’s father said. “Lead the way, please.”

Jack nodded, closing his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again they were lit by the blue-green corona Kane had come to associate with reading the aether.  _ Following our own aura trails back through the castle, _ Kane thought.  _ Clever.  _ He looked again at Jack’s clothes and boots, obviously cleaned by magic, and wondered what else black magic could do that had never occurred to him.

They soon came to a corridor Kane was sure they hadn’t been down before, but Jack strode on until the corridor ended in a large dining hall. Though there were multiple tables that could easily have seated twenty or more, their host awaited them at a small, round table crowded with eight chairs, two of them mismatched as though they’d been pulled from another room. On Astos’s left sat Grifford, and on his right was another black mage with long brown hair but a short beard. The three men stood when their guests arrived. “I was beginning to wonder if I should send Grifford after you!” Astos said, smiling again. He came around the table to greet them, clapping Jack companionably on the shoulder, nodding as he looked over Jack’s coat as though he approved. “The food’s in the kitchen, just through that door. I’m afraid it’s self-serve, but Hagen takes his cooking seriously so at least it’s good.”

It  _ was _ good. Hagen, the bearded mage they had not met before, had wrapped several thin fish in bacon, roasted them, and served them over a bed of onions browned in bacon fat. The meal was greasy but flavorful, better than Kane would have expected from three scholars who - it turned out - lived on their own.

“Just the three of you?” Refial said, surprised. 

“There were more of us before the Rot set in. Some can’t handle its effects, even from the other side of the Keep,” said Grifford. 

“Yes, but… No servants? No staff?” Kane asked, surprised as well. He knew how many people it took to keep a castle clean and in good repair, to prepare rooms and baths and a meal for five guests at short notice. Refial, having grown up in a manor himself, must be having the same thoughts. 

Astos barked a short laugh, waving a hand in the air dismissively. “What need have we of servants? There’s nothing they can do that our magic can’t handle.” He raised his glass in Jack’s direction. “Those without power scarcely realize how sufficient we can be on our own. Don’t you agree?” 

Kane glanced beside him where Jack, who had pulled his scarf down to eat, nodded once but didn’t otherwise reply. He ate slowly, moving stiffly, as though trying to draw as little attention as possible. Astos and the other two mages had said nothing about his scars, but the way their eyes kept darting toward him and away again was obvious.

Astos continued, “Besides, servants and all they entail are too formal for my tastes. I have to say, since I fled the city, that is one thing I haven’t missed. Lord of Elfheim or not, I am primarily a scholar, after all. I find this isolation suits me.”   

“You don’t miss any of it?” Kane said, refilling his wine cup before passing the pitcher to his father. He couldn’t imagine living so far from everything, the people, the shops. He thought back on all the times he’d stood on the castle ramparts looking down at it all, wondering about the lives of the people in the streets below. 

Astos sipped his own wine, seeming to consider the question. “Well, I  _ have _ had trouble acquiring the newest publications! But my library here is extensive, and I do still receive the occasional shipment from Cornelia.” He motioned at Grifford and Hagen. “These two are from Cornelia. Refugees from the troubles there, needed a place to practice their craft away from the ban. There are very few opportunities for  _ human  _ mages in Elfheim. My contacts in the city have sent several to visit me over the years. Some have stayed for quite a long while.” Astos set his fork down, pushing his plate back to fold his hands on the table in front of him. “Which brings us to you…”

The table grew completely silent as everyone seated there stilled.

“Cotto’s letter says you’re interested in Asura’s crown. Surely you could have found a history book back in the city. May I ask why you felt the need to come all this way?” Astos said, his tone carefully neutral.

Redden looked toward Jack, nodding encouragement, but after one look at his face, Kane knew his friend wouldn’t be able to speak in front of three new people at once. Jack stared at Redden, eyes pleading, but Astos spoke again. “Is this to do with the curse?”

“I thought no elf could speak of it outside the castle?” Redden said.

“Oh, the king has ordered us to silence, to be sure, but there is a geographical component to the Divine Right. We are more than adequately out of range at this distance from the city.” Astos snapped his fingers and, with a sound like a candle being blown out, a book appeared in his hand.  _ I guess they really do use magic for everything, _ Kane thought, but he saw Jack’s eyes widen at the trick, a sign that it was perhaps not as easy as Astos made it look. “After the prince was cursed, when the king’s grief began to make him… unpredictable, I became concerned. He wasn’t himself. The king is my cousin: we grew up together, and I knew him well. If we could no longer trust the king’s orders but were obligated still to follow them… Well, I began to wonder if anything like this had happened before in our people’s history.” 

Astos flipped through the pages, searching. “You know the story? Before the goddess Asura died, she left two gifts behind for the elves. First, she bestowed a blessing on her oldest and wisest child, binding all of elf-kind to obey him as their king, so that her people might know peace forever. That blessing, the Divine Right, passes from king to king.” Astos sighed, closing his eyes for a moment in a show of grief. “Unfortunately, if the king succumbs to madness, the blessing becomes more of a curse. That’s where Asura’s second gift comes in.” He stopped on one of the pages, holding the open book up so that everyone at the table could see it. “Her crown.”

Jack leaned forward, staring at the picture, carefully repositioning his scarf as he did so, pushing his nearly-full plate aside. Astos handed the book to Hagen, who passed it down the table. When it stopped in front of Jack, Kane moved in to see it better. 

Astos went on, “Through my research, I discovered that the crown was never meant to be a mere symbol of office: it’s steeped in protective spells to assure the royal family’s health.” Astos sat back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of him as he sighed. “It could be what Aryon needs, but when I asked Eldarin what happened to the crown, he became incensed. I had to flee the city.” 

“But…” Jack said, his voice barely above a whisper. He pointed at the book. “This isn’t the crown I saw in my vision.”

Astos waved his hand. On the table, the pages of the book began to turn rapidly, as if blown by a wind, stopping on another picture, another crown of gold and gems but styled to look like woven branches. “This?”

Jack nodded.

“It’s the same crown,” Astos explained. “That’s the design Eldarin chose. It’s been remade many times over the centuries, but it’s not the shape of it that matters. It’s the gems. Are any of you familiar with a substance called aetherite?”

Kane looked at Jack, who shook his head.  

“It’s mentioned in a few old stories I know,” Lord Redden said from Kane’s left. “It’s a gemstone, yes? A rare one?”

“The rarest,” said Astos. “As the name implies, aetherite is made of aether so concentrated that it has turned to stone. No one knows how it happens. It’s hard to find, and harder still to work, but the Leifens had the way of it. They were able to harness its power to do many wondrous things, but it was also used to create gems of stunning beauty. More valuable than any diamonds.”   

“That would be a valuable gem indeed,” Lord Redden said. He motioned for the book, and Jack passed it across Kane to him. “And Asura’s crown contains a piece of this aetherite?”

“Three pieces, each as large as a hen’s egg. It’s the gems that hold the spells that keep the royal family well and whole. The crown itself is merely a means to hold them, redesigned every few generations to suit the whims of various kings. I’ve spent the past five years on this research. I believed when I began, and still believe now, if we could find the crown and restore it to him, the prince may yet be saved.”

“These protective spells you mentioned, if someone corrupted them, could they perhaps be causing the curse?” Redden said.

Astos nodded. “I’ve considered it, but white magic has never been my forte.” 

“You have the crown here,” Jack said, clearing his throat to go on even as every person at the table turned to look at him. “The crowns you have on display in the halls, they all belonged to previous elven kings, didn’t they?”

“Weren’t you listening?” Astos scoffed. “The crowns themselves are useless without the gems they once held. The ones I have displayed here have been fitted with glass. I assure you, if you ever saw a piece of aetherite, you’d be able to tell the difference.”

Hagen and Grifford chuckled quietly, though Hagen at least had the good grace to attempt to hide it behind his wine cup. Kane seethed, ready to say something in Jack’s defense, but Lord Redden pinched him under the table and gave the barest shake of his head.

Kane looked at Jack again just as Jack cocked an eyebrow at the elf, and the faintest of icy coronas glinted in his blue eyes. Kane could feel a chill radiating from the mage beside him, the only sign he was angry. When he spoke again, his voice was clear, all signs of his earlier timidity gone. “And I assure  _ you  _ that if even one of those crowns ever held the gems, I can trace the aether through it to find them.”

Hagen choked on his drink. Astos and Grifford looked at Jack pityingly. “That isn’t possible,” Astos said. “The aura would be too faint.”

“I sorted through five years worth of aether to find the cause of that curse; I think I can sort through the present well enough to find the damn thing now.” Jack held out his hand, and the pitcher of wine in front of Kane’s father slid across the table to meet him. He topped off his cup, pulled his plate closer, and pulled his scarf down once more, resuming his meal with impeccable manners, no longer seeming to care about the men watching him with shock in their eyes. The chill in the air gradually faded.

_ At least he’s eating, _ Kane thought, feeling a smirk coming on and turning back to his own food to hide it. He caught his father’s eye, noticed the same smirk on Lord Redden’s face, and couldn’t stop himself from grinning like a fool.

* * *

Thad shivered as they walked through the basement. The darkness was complete, and it pressed close around him, thick as a blindfold. He tried to relax his eyes the way he had before, those times he was able to make the aether sight work, but with nowhere to fix his gaze, he couldn’t get his eyes to cooperate. 

When he jumped at a scuttling noise behind him, Elleth squeezed his hand reassuringly. “It’s only a rat,” she said.

Thad whimpered before he could stop himself. He hated rats.

Elleth laughed. “We don’t have to stay down here, you know. It was your idea. If you’re scared-”

“I’m not!” Thad said, but his voice squeaked.  _ I won’t be, _ he thought.  _ Never again.  _ If he could learn to see the aether, the dark wouldn’t matter anymore. That was what Gollor had told him when he’d asked about Matoya’s blindness. 

“Oh? It might help if you were. Grandfather lent me a book once about how our emotions affect our aether reserves, but there wasn’t much evidence for it. Written by a white mage. You know how they say white magic comes from love? Anyway, most of it didn’t apply well to black magic, but there were several accounts of young mages whose power manifested suddenly in frightening situations.”

“I’m not scared,” he said, but the pounding of his heart was so loud in his ears that he was sure she must hear it too.  _ This was a bad idea, _ he thought. He had hoped he would learn to see the aether the way he’d learned to swim, by being thrown in and letting instincts take over, but as the blind minutes crawled by, he knew if he stayed here, he would drown. He licked his lips, fighting to keep his voice level as he said, “But I don’t think this is working. Can we go?”

“Of course, but we’re pretty far from the stairs. Keep working on the aether sight; I’ll head that way.” Elleth gave his hand a tug, leading him along with her own aether sight as easily as if she walked in full daylight.

He didn’t bother with the aether sight. He focused on his breathing as Orin had taught him, pretended he was brave like Kane, concentrated on counting his steps as each minute in that darkness seemed to take years. 

He yelped at a loud slamming, but then he saw a light ahead of him and realized someone had opened the door at the top of the stairs, letting it bang into the wall. “Elleth?” a man called.

“Thalion?” said Elleth. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” he said, smiling wide. He waited at the top of the stairs for them, holding a lantern in one hand. He was tall, even by elf standards, and wore the green and brown uniform of a castle guard. “Segeth was worried about you. She thought you would say goodbye before you went back to the shop, and was complaining that you had forgotten about her, but I heard Gollor saying he didn’t think you’d left yet.”

“And you thought you’d play the hero by fetching me along, is that it? Honestly, Thalion, you could try talking to her.”

The man on the stairs grinned sheepishly, shifting his feet in embarrassment. “Sure, but maybe you could sort of mention me when you talk to her yourself? I’m up for gate duty in a quarter hour.”

“A quarter hour?” said Thad. He knew the guard schedules - had memorized them, in fact, as it seemed a prudent thing to know - but it couldn’t be time for shift change yet. “What time is it?”

“It’s nearly second chime,” said Thalion.

“We’ve been in here all day!” Thad said, running up the stairs so that the tall guard had to duck out of the way. 

He should have joined Lena an hour ago. As he ran toward the prince’s rooms, he wondered if she had worried about him.  _ Has she eaten? _ he thought. So wrapped up in her work, reluctant to leave the prince alone, she never seemed to remember to feed herself unless Thad saw to it. He had thought Kane was patronizing him, telling him to take care of Lena just so he would have something to do, some task to occupy his time while the others were off on their important quest, but he’d learned that Kane meant every word. The white mage took care of everyone except herself.

The prince’s door was open when he arrived. “Lena?” he called. “I’m sorry I’m late…” He stopped in the doorway. 

She was there, but she wasn’t working. She was sprawled across the bed, asleep beside the prince, with her knees tucked up and her hands still on his chest, as if she’d been sitting next to him, healing him, and had slumped over just where she was. For a moment, Thad worried that the curse had caught her, that she wouldn’t wake, and he ran around the bed to shake her, calling, “Lena! Lena!” but her eyes fluttered open at his touch.

“What is it?” she muttered.

He sighed in relief. “Oh, nothing,” he said.

“Alright,” she said quietly. Her eyes drifted closed again, and soon she was breathing deeply and evenly. 

“Sorry, Aryon,” he whispered in the prince’s ear. “No story today.” 

She would want him to wake her, he knew, but even if she might be upset with him later, she needed rest. _ Between her and Kane, I think I’d rather have her upset with me, _ he thought. He would guard her, though, just like Kane said. It would be bad if anyone found her there. Stepping lightly, he picked up his chair and moved it to the open door where he would have a good view of the corridor. Elves moved quietly, and he couldn’t count on being able to hear anyone coming. He made himself comfortable, sat up straight, focused on the end of the hallway, and tried to call up the aether sight again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _8/26/16: For an anime convention last year, I cosplayed as Vivi, the little black mage from FF IX, and I was adorable. You didn’t need to know that. But! While I was looking up Vivi pictures on Pinterest to plan my costume, I came across a lot of amazing black mage fan art. Do a quick search, if you’re into that sort of thing._   
>  _One thing I noticed is that the black mage art (both official and fan art) is pretty evenly divided between “flowing eldritch robes” and “Matrix-style trench coats”. Kane notices, as I did, that the coat seems hella more practical for day-to-day wear. Obviously, magic takes a lot of study and you’re going to get that class of mage who wants to hang out in a library learning everything there is to know about their chosen discipline – for them, the robes are fine. But you’re also going to get the sort of mage who learns magic because they want to go out in the world and do something with it. No way they’re doing it in robes._


	25. Cursed Lands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Cursed Lands from Final Fantasy V. Click[here](https://youtu.be/ePGHrO6WMlI) for the original or [here](https://youtu.be/edTt21MznB0) for a fantastic techno-dance version from OC Remix. If you like it, [you can download it here.](http://ocremix.org/remix/OCR01627) The people at OC Remix are doing Leviathan’s work, y’all. They deserve your support._

_ Crescent Lake, Five Months Ago _

“Are we all agreed?” Randell asked. Looking about the Circle of Sages, he saw nods of affirmation and firm resolve from the cowardly old men he led. The only two white mages present, his son Wrede and one of the younger ones Randell didn’t know, made bitter faces, but they hadn’t been able to argue with the Circle’s black mage majority. Randell himself hadn’t been able to talk them around. He nodded to the man guarding the door. “Show him in.” 

Bayard, the ship’s captain, seemed a hard man at first glance, tight-lipped and steel-gazed, but Randell had spoken with him often in the week he’d been in the village and had found him to be intelligent and well-spoken. The captain strode to the center of the Circle chamber, his hat respectfully in hand, though his bald head was covered by the tied bandana he wore underneath. He didn’t wait for the Circle to address him before he spoke. “Have you considered my request?”

“We have,” Randell said. 

It was all he needed to say. Bayard stared at him, apparently reading the bad news in his face. The captain’s eyes flicked only briefly toward the grimacing white mages off to one side before he nodded. “I see.” He replaced his hat and turned to go.

“Captain,” Randell called. “Please. We wouldn’t send you back to Melmond empty-handed. We’ve prepared a number of potions to-”

“I asked for white mages,” Bayard said coldly. “What are we to do if these potions run dry before the plague does?”

Randell’s eyes flicked to his son, who glared at him. Wrede had made the same argument only that morning, had begged his father to override the Circle’s decision. Randell could do it, as head of the Circle, but he’d be voted out at the next meeting. Better to fail far-off Melmond than to be powerless the next time Crescent Lake faced trouble. “Our white mages are even now preparing more. Return to us as often as you need,” he said.

Bayard nodded again, curtly. “How quickly can you arrange the first shipment?”

“Wrede?” Randell said. His son nodded. “The first batch is ready now.” 

“Send it to the harbor. We sail at dawn. I’ve wasted enough time here.” He left, slamming the door behind him.

The Circle’s meeting concluded soon after - that had been the last item on the agenda - but enough time had passed that Randell was surprised to find Bayard still in the antechamber, speaking with Jack. Randell’s apprentice was a shy young man, not prone to speak to strangers, but the captain had been often enough in their company these past few days. “Captain,” Randell said, approaching them. “If this is to be your last night with us, will you and your officers dine with me this evening?”

“I’m afraid I can’t vouch for their manners once they hear the Circle’s decision,” said Bayard.

Randell smiled. “I believe your men will find me as ill-tempered as they are.”

Bayard nodded and left toward the harbor. Doubtless, he had preparations to make. Randell was lost in his own thoughts for a moment, frustrated at how the meeting had gone, but an angry mutter brought him out of it. One of the departing sages glared at Randell and his apprentice as he passed. Randell sighed. “What are you doing here, Jack? You know apprentices aren’t allowed.” That wasn’t entirely true, of course - the sages’ apprentices were the exception to the rule - but Randell knew Jack made the other sages uncomfortable for a different reason.  _ How can such learned, intelligent men be so superstitious?  _ he thought.

“I was eavesdropping on the meeting,” Jack said, with that infuriating calm he had.

Randell swiped his hand over his face, tamping down the knee-jerk reprimand that came to his tongue. It did no good to get angry at the boy: Jack would only respond with cool logic and a rational argument about why he was right. It was why Randell had agreed to take him on in the first place, that admirable control, but it annoyed him at present. His own control had been steadily waning since his forties, when Wrede was Jack’s age, more than twenty years ago.  _ Turning into my grandfather, _ Randell thought. 

He motioned for Jack to follow him home.  The apprentice was quiet as they pushed through the crowd of villagers outside the Circle chamber. Jack was always quiet, but this quiet was heavier than normal. Randall didn’t address it until they approached the workshop beside his house. “You seem troubled.”

“I don’t understand the Circle’s decision,” Jack said.

Randell nodded. “Too many of Melmond’s white mages have died of that plague. We can’t risk our own to it, plain and simple.”

“Bayard says Melmond’s white mages were unprepared. The plague was on them before they knew it. Ours won’t have that problem.” 

“We can’t send them when we don’t know that for a certainty.”

Jack shrugged. “The white mages are Oath-bound to go, whether the Circle sends them or not.”

Randell didn’t respond as he unlocked the door to the messy building where he kept a number of interesting and flammable things, the tools of a fire mage. Once inside, he sat in his chair by the desk, motioning for Jack to sit across from him. “I know you know the White Oath,” he said.  _ Iris is sure to have taught him that, _ he thought. “What of the Black Oath?”

“I know it,” Jack scoffed. “Lukahn hasn’t been entirely remiss in his duties.”

Randell nodded. He well knew the animosity between this boy and his guardian. Many in the village still believed this unimposing young man was the subject of that old prophecy; Lukahn, the prophet himself, was foremost among them.  _ Superstitious cowards. We’re supposed to be the stewards of this world. What have we become? _ He said, “Yes, well, many apprentices never hear it before the day they swear it. But if you know it, you know the uses of the aether.”

Jack nodded. “‘To build, to guide, to guard.’”

“Precisely. And who better to guard with our powers than those white mages who can’t fight for themselves?”

“The people of Melmond, for a start.” Jack leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of him. “The Oath doesn’t specify who we guard.”

Randell shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. Only for how long.” He looked expectantly at his apprentice.

“‘While life is given to me,’” Jack said.

Randell smiled - the boy was so earnest. “Lukahn has taught you after all. Can you speak the whole thing from the beginning?” 

Jack began dutifully: “‘As I’m blessed to see the aether, so might I-”

“Stop,” said Randell, interrupting his rote recitation. “I don’t mean like that.”

Jack’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, his entire posture shifting as comprehension dawned. “Master Randell-”

“I’m not your master anymore. Not from today.” He reached for Jack’s right hand, shaping it into the sign of the word, a sign that was only ever used this one time in a black mage’s life. “There. Now, draw the aether and hold it.”

Randell felt the power move through the room, saw a white corona come to Jack’s eyes, vulnerable eyes when he looked at Randell and asked, “Are you sure I’m ready?”

Randell sighed, looking about his cluttered workshop, at his experiments and his papers. The earnest young man he himself had been was buried in this mess somewhere, but Randell lacked the energy to dig him out.  _ Old and set in our ways. All of the sages are. _ “You’re ready. Say the words while they still mean something to you, Jack.”

The young man hesitated, but Randell didn’t hurry him. A moment like this took as long as it took. He remembered his own master, long dead now, witnessing his Oath so many years ago, and the memory of his belief in the words drifted through his mind like a perfume on the breeze, like the last scent of apple blossoms in the orchard after all the flowers have died. 

“As I am blessed to see the aether, so may I bless others through the aether shaped by my will,” Jack said, and Randell said it with him, if less fervently. “To build, to guide, to guard, but never to harm my fellow man, nor for selfish ends, but in service to Life while life is given to me, I swear to the aether and to myself so to stand.”

The young man grew quiet after that. Randell could feel him releasing the aether, and when the corona left Jack’s eyes, he was surprised to see tears there. He hadn’t known his stoic apprentice  _ could _ cry. Randell stood, turning away on the pretense of straightening some papers on a side table. “Well,” he said, his own voice thick with emotion he hadn’t realized was there. He cleared his throat and began again. “I have things to see to here.”

He heard the chair scraping against the floor as Jack stood to go.  _ Don’t forget this day. Don’t forget what you’re feeling in this moment,  _ he thought. He almost said it aloud, but he heard the latch open and close again, and then it was too late. Randell sat in his chair, alone and remembering, staring at the detritus of his studies until tears blurred his sight. 

* * *

_ The Mondmer Coast, Present Day _

Perhaps, Redden considered, the constant company of the other two mages was wearing on his introverted companion. Hagen and Grifford walked at the front of the line, relaxed and laughing, sticking by Jack as though they had been his best friends since childhood. Jack seemed to regard them with weary tolerance, like an older brother tasked with watching a pair of curious toddlers, no matter that he was many years younger than these two. Redden walked behind them with his son, listening. Grifford asked Jack if his parents had been mages, and Jack gave a short, sharp reply.   

“Is it just me, or is it like they’re studying him?” Kane whispered.

“It’s not just you,” Redden said. His son had a good instinct for people; he’d never known Kane to have a bad friend. Jack had been so calm, so controlled, when they’d met in Cornelia. His quiet demeanor had gone a long way toward keeping Kane calm as well, for which Redden was exceedingly grateful. His son would never admit it, but Redden knew the prophecy - the enormity of it - frightened him. It had always been Kane’s way to buckle down and face his fears, but that didn’t mean he was fearless.

They were three days from the Keep, heading south along the coast of the Mondmer, following where the mages led them. After that dinner with Astos, they’d cleared enough space in the huge dining hall for Jack to chalk a ritual circle into the floor and the lot of them had watched as he bound the aether into one of the old crowns so that it would point them, like a compass, toward the current one. The spell only worked for a black mage, and only when the aether sight was active; it was too much to expect from one mage alone.

They had set out the next morning with Hagen and Grifford in tow, at Astos’s suggestion. The three mages led, taking turns passing the crown between them. Redden and Kane kept to the middle of the party, while Orin and Refial walked behind. It hadn’t taken much persuasion to convince Refial to keep his own powers a secret. The pirate was used to being held in reserve, Sleeping his crewmates’ enemies from the sidelines and without warning. Redden wanted to trust the mages, but he felt it best to be prepared. 

Occasionally, when the path ahead looked difficult, Grifford would pull a white stone sphere from his pocket and peer into it before directing them around whatever obstacles lay ahead. Redden had heard of seeing stones, but Jack never took Grifford at his word, always reached for the stone and studied it himself before they moved on. Redden couldn’t tell if Jack distrusted these two or if that was merely the fire mage’s usual reticence. The two men constantly attempted to engage him in conversation, asking about his education and about life in Crescent Lake, but they hadn’t succeeded in drawing him out. 

Kane winced, sucking a breath through his teeth when he heard Grifford ask Jack if he had a girl back home and Jack merely glared in reply. “If they tried to talk to him about magic, they’d have better luck,” Kane said. “They’d never get him to shut up.”

“They won’t, though,” said Redden. “They think they’re better mages than he is.” 

“Are they?” Kane asked. 

Redden was reluctant to speak poorly of the boy, but as far as he could tell, Jack was only an average mage. There were hierarchies among black mages that Redden didn’t understand. Their aether reserves, their casting methods, their fields of study, all played into it. During Jack’s ritual in the Keep, Redden had been impressed by how naturally the spell came to him, by his fluency in Leifenish, but when Jack sank to his knees, panting from his efforts, Redden noticed the sneer Astos had not been quick enough to hide. That spell had all but wiped him out; still, Astos hadn’t thought the boy could pull it off at all. It wasn’t the first time Redden had seen Jack succeed through sheer stubbornness against daunting odds.  

“No, son,” he said. “Jack is worth ten of them. Easily.” 

They continued south, passing open country with no sign of the Rot. That surprised Redden, as here on the coast they were closer to Melmond than they had been in the groves.  _ Maybe it doesn’t originate in Melmond after all,  _ he thought, but late that afternoon, Grifford consulted the crystal sphere he carried and declared they were coming up on it at last. 

Jack held out a hand for the crystal and peered at it, a worried crease forming between his eyebrows. “He’s right. Beyond that stretch, it’s all Rot.”

Redden moved closer to look over his shoulder, but to him the artifact was only a white stone. He clapped Jack on the back, saying, “I’ll heal you through it.” 

They made their camp on a grassy cliff overlooking the sea. It was a warm night, but the breeze off the water was cool and pleasant. In the hours before sundown, Kane and Refial wandered off, coming back with three fat seabirds they claimed to have “hunted up” for dinner. As clever as Hagen and Grifford thought themselves to be, neither seemed to realize Kane had only a sword, and that Refial had no weapon at all. The three black mages ate quickly, settling in for sleep as soon as they’d finished. Working the aether for so long was exhausting, and mages slept hard as their powers replenished, but still Redden and the others took turns guarding the camp at night as much to protect the mages as to keep an eye on Astos’s men.

When Redden took his turn, a few hours shy of sunrise, the campfire had burned down to only a few glowing coals. He considered coaxing it to life again for the light if not for the warmth, but decided against it; they were a few days short of the full moon, and there was light enough from that.  _ Almost a full cycle of the moon since we left,  _ he thought. As Redden watched the moonlight play across the waves below, Jack started awake with a gasp, looking frantically about their camp. 

“You're alright, lad,” Redden called quietly. “Go back to sleep.”

The young mage jumped again at the sound of his voice, eyes snapping to Redden in a white corona of panic before he seemed to realize where he was. He sagged visibly as he released the aether, rubbing his face with his hands. 

When Jack stood and came to stand beside the glowing embers, Redden added a few twigs to the ashes, poked them with a stick until a small flicker grew there, and said, “You need your rest. This is too early even for you.”

Jack shook his head, apparently too disturbed by his dream to speak.

Redden nodded, understanding. He had his own dreams like that, dreams of his brother, of the thing that had killed him. There would be no more sleep for Jack tonight. “Have a seat,” he said.

He waited, watching the fire rather than the young man beside him as he composed himself. When the fire had taken hold and no longer needed tending, he glanced toward Jack. The mage was gazing out to sea, but he must have sensed Redden looking at him. He spoke haltingly, but firmly. “I wanted to talk to you. About what you said. About Lena.” 

He sounded so young. Redden sometimes forgot how young Jack was - whip smart, rational for his age, but scarcely older than Kane. And like Kane, Jack had not reacted well to being told the girl he fancied was out of the question. Redden regretted telling him; things had been uneasy between them ever since. He nodded for Jack to continue.

Jack took a deep breath before plowing on with a certainty that Redden envied. “You have your reasons for believing as you do. But I have mine.”

It was clear he expected an argument, but Redden chuckled at his serious tone. “Words like that have started as many wars as they’ve ended. But-” and here he held up a hand to stop Jack’s next comment, “I would have peace between us.” He sighed, considering his next words carefully. With Kane, he had to dance around this sort of thing, but he suspected he didn't need to with Jack, that he could say what was on his mind and let Jack sort out the details. “I’m not your father, lad - for all I know, I’m nothing to you. But I do want what’s best for you. I wouldn’t see you hurt. I only told you because I thought it was right. I’ve said everything I intend to say on the matter.”

Jack nodded, his expression lost on Redden behind the scarf he wore.

Redden stifled a yawn. He stood, stretching, and turned toward the spot where the others were laid out. “If you’re going to be up for awhile, I believe I’ll go back to sleep.”

He turned back at Jack’s quiet, “Redden…” The mage kept his eyes down, and hesitated long before he spoke again, as if the words stuck in his throat and had to be pulled free. “You’re not nothing. You’re my friend.”

And that was not nothing at all. Shy as the boy was, he would not have declared such a thing unless he meant it. The young fire mage seemed embarrassed now, looking to sea again. Redden smiled. “What do you think of Figaro?” 

“What?” Jack asked, confused enough to look up at him.

“As a surname,” Redden explained. “It’s the name of a Melmond folk hero. Clever man who defeated his enemies with his wits alone. Seems the sort of figure you might look up to.”

Jack shrugged, looking away. “I’m not sure that’s a good fit, sir.”

“Well, think on it. And think fast. Kane’s already told me if you don’t choose one, he’s choosing for you. You do not want that to happen. The boy’s terrible with names.” He chuckled at the way Jack’s eyes widened in worry, then turned back to his bedroll on the grassy slopes behind them.

* * *

The mages led them south through the Rot, following aether trails Kane couldn’t see. He didn’t mind being led - he had other concerns at the moment. 

“I don't think I’ve ever sweated so much in my life,” Refial said, panting from the heat. 

“I know,” Kane agreed. This wasn’t the heat of high summer - spring had only just ended - but the moistness of the Rot seemed to permeate the air itself, a still, heavy air with no hint of a breeze, and the sun not yet halfway to its peak. The sweat sat on Kane’s skin without evaporating as they trekked through the sludge that had once been solid ground and the slimy, decaying vegetation that once thrived there.

Refial went on, “I don’t mean ‘On any other given day in my life.’ I mean, ‘In the whole of my life up to this moment.’”

“I  _ know _ ,” Kane repeated, wiping his dripping brow with a handkerchief that was already soaked and coated in grime. It made no difference - the little cloth had reached its limits. Kane grimaced at it, then tossed it to the ground, shaking his head. 

“Here,” Jack said from in front of him, holding out a black handkerchief, clean and unused. His tall friend still wore his coat over what Kane knew to be a long-sleeved shirt. In his other gloved hand he carried the scarf he normally used to cover his face, folded over and over into a thick wad that he held over his nose and mouth. He and the other mages were uncomfortable with the Rot - it seemed to give Jack a nervous stomach, and Kane knew his father had been surreptitiously healing him all morning - but Jack was the only one among them who seemed unaffected by the heat. 

“How are you not dying under all those layers?” Kane asked. 

“Ice spell,” Jack muttered. “It keeps the temperature constant.”

“You… you can do that? Bahamut, Jack! Why didn’t you say so? Hit me with it!”

“Oh, quite!” said Refial. “Share the love, man!”

Jack shook his head, and Kane could see the blush in his uncovered cheeks. “I’m afraid I can’t. It’s… it’s not…”

“He has to hold it,” said Hagen. “Like flexing a muscle. It will last as long as he wants, so long as he doesn’t let it go. Only a mage of considerable skill could hold it on more than one person.” His tone left no doubt that he did not believe Jack’s skills were “considerable.”

Grifford nodded, speaking casually. “A frivolous waste of magic, if you ask me, particularly when we don’t know what we’ll face at our destination.” The two of them huddled together over the old crown they carried, examining Grifford’s seeing stone and murmuring as they pointed at its solid white surface.

“Nobody did ask you,” Jack said, his voice a quiet, venomous whisper that left Kane blinking.

He wasn’t the only one who heard it. His father stepped closer, patting Jack’s shoulder, and Kane saw the tell-tale glow of white magic in Redden’s hand. “Don’t listen to him, lad. If there’s a fight ahead, at least you’re fresh for it. Seems an efficient use of aether to me.” He clapped Kane on the back, the fuzzy edges of the healing spell soothing his weariness, before Redden stepped away to speak with Orin.

They found the cave less than an hour later. The muddy ground gave way gradually to a field of angular stones, some tilting up to reveal the Rot underneath, others sinking as the dying earth oozed up around them. In the center, a dark hole the width of a Cornelian street gaped up at the sky, the smooth stone of its edges slick where the Rot trickled down. Kane stepped carefully, making sure of his footing on the uneven rock as he craned his neck over to look. Though the edge fell away sharply beneath his feet, across from him, a series of stones descended gradually inside.

“Father,” he said. “These almost look like stairs.” 

“Yes,” Redden agreed, his hand firm on Kane’s shoulder, as though he worried his son might fall. He pointed to a spot on the wall just on the edge of where the sunlight gave way to shadow, to a series of thick, deep markings that looked like writing, though each letter was as tall as a man. “And that looks like Leifenish. Odd.” He turned back toward the others and spoke to Hagen, who stood closest. “Do either of you know what an old Leifenish ruin could be doing all the way out here?”

“No,” said Hagen, looking down at the crown he held. “But this is where we need to be.” Jack beckoned, and Hagen passed it over, though the corona made his annoyed eye-rolling more obvious. 

Jack slipped his bundled scarf into his coat pocket, taking the crown in both hands. He closed his eyes, concentrating, but when he opened them again, they were lit by the same blue-green fire as Hagen’s. He nodded. “The spell ends in there. This is the place.”

“We’ll need a light,” Redden said. “Orin, let’s see what we have.” 

As the two older men checked their supplies for anything that would make a decent torch, Refial spoke from behind Kane. “I’m not going.”

“What? Why ever not?” Kane said.

The thin pirate stared at the hole in the ground from a few feet away. He’d gone pale, trembling where he stood. “Because I’m a coward. I told you I was. I don’t like this. There could be anything living down there. I won’t go.”

“We haven’t seen a living thing in hours,” Jack pointed out. “Not so much as an insect. I hardly think-”

“I’m not going,” Refial affirmed, causing Grifford to snort with poorly concealed laughter. “I’ll wait here for you.”

Jack glared from Grifford to Refial and back again, the corona in his eyes lending the expression a dangerous edge. He stepped closer, so that he, Kane, and Refial made a tight group. “How can you be so brave around women, but such a coward about everything of consequence?” he asked in a low voice.

“Because those women I flirt with aren’t trying to kill me, not generally. The fact that you can’t unroll your tongue around one rather short white mage but you’re willing to run headlong into a dark cave full of who-knows-what-terrors is a mystery to me. Don’t ask me to go in there, Jack. I tell you, I can’t do it.” 

Jack didn’t reply. He looked sidelong at Kane, and, without his scarf on, Kane could clearly see the muscles of his jaw twitching as he ground his teeth. 

“Alright,” Kane said. “Wait out here and stand guard. If anything moves funny…” He hesitated, looking to see if Hagen or Grifford were nearby, but neither of them appeared to be listening. “You know what to do,” he finished.

It was midday by the time they started down the ancient and crooked steps, carrying four torches made from the branches of a dead tree that the Rot had not yet claimed. Refial waved, waiting on the surface with their packs and other supplies, wearing Jack’s hat to keep the sun from his face. Jack sighed disapprovingly, then turned his attention to the markings on the wall near the entrance. After several minutes he shook his head.

“I thought you could read Leifenish?” Kane asked.

“I can,” he said. “But this is high Leifenish. It’s centuries older than what I know.”

The strange staircase led them down, farther down than Kane anticipated. The air grew cooler as they went, the ancient stones more cave-like in appearance, worn glass-smooth in places by the constant drip of water down the walls.  When Kane looked back, the entrance was only a palm-sized circle of daylight above them. 

The Leifenish markings continued as well, where the water hadn’t destroyed them. Jack stopped often to inspect them, speaking with Redden whenever he thought he recognized a word, but Hagen and Grifford showed no interest in the mysterious writing. The two of them walked in the lead without so much as a torch between them, following the aether trail of the crown they sought. 

“This could be from the founding of the elvish empire,” he heard Jack saying. “I think this word is ‘Asura’ - I keep seeing it. This one could be an older form of ‘Erdrick’.”

“But what is it doing so far from the capital?” his father asked. 

If Jack had a theory, Kane didn't hear it. Ahead of him, Hagen and Grifford had reached the bottom of the stairs and were arguing in fierce whispers; Hagen gestured wildly with his hands. They didn't notice Kane's approach, seeming startled when he asked them, “What's the problem, gentlemen?”

Hagen glared, but Grifford asked desperately, “Can't you feel it?” He shuddered.

Kane looked about, holding his torch high, but the cave continued on like a hallway, farther than the light could reach. The air was stale, with an earthy, copper-tinged taste to it, like the scent of the sky after a rain. “I don't feel anything,” he said. 

Jack ran into him but didn't seem to notice he’d done so. Kane turned and found the fire mage gazing wide-eyed toward the darkened ceiling. “Oh…” Jack said breathlessly. “Oh, that is just  _ weird _ .”

“What is?” Kane asked. “What's going on?”

“There's no aether here,” Jack said. “None. Is the spell still working?” 

“The trail stopped there,” Hagen said, pointing. 

Jack looked at the foot of the stairs and the walls framing them, all covered in more of that old Leifenish writing. “There's a spell written here, some sort of shield against the aether.” He knelt, inspecting the bottom-most step, his frown one-sided because of the way the scars pulled at his mouth. “I don’t understand why they would do this.”

“Is it dangerous?” Kane asked.

Jack shrugged as though embarrassed. “Not technically, no, but none of us will be able to cast anything outside of our own aether reserves.”

Kane sighed. “Yes, well, some of us aren't able to cast anything at all. It's never stopped me before.” He pushed forward, past the other two mages who still bickered over the seeing stone that no longer worked for them. “Since you're essentially useless, why don't you let the armed swordsman go first? Just a thought.” The mages’ grumbling behind him made him smile.

Jack didn’t stay with them, but walked beside Kane as he led them all into the cave depths. They found nothing except more stairs, leading farther down. The sounds of dripping water faded away behind them, and the air became drier and colder, cool enough that Kane shivered in his sweat-damp clothes. At the bottom of another set of stairs, the cave opened up to a larger room with distant walls. Kane’s footsteps echoed like thunder as he stepped inside, looking up, trying to determine if the torchlight reached the high ceiling; he didn’t think it did.

“This is a crypt,” Jack said, his whisper loud in the still air. 

Kane brought his attention down, following Jack’s gaze to a large block of stone a few feet ahead of them, to the body that lay on top of it. Kane assumed it was a man, for it wore armor and held a sword in its folded hands, but he couldn’t be sure; time had withered it so that nothing now remained except papery skin clinging to old bones. The armor hung crooked where the straps had apparently rotted away over the years, and both the armor and the sword were black with age.

“A sentry by the door,” Redden said, stepping in for a closer look. 

“Here’s another,” Orin called from ahead. “And I believe I can see more.”

Redden followed, nodding. “We’ll likely find a whole retinue. That used to be the way, when a king died. His servants would be entombed with him to serve him in the next life.”   

“Not a king,” Jack said. “Look.”

Farther into the room, on a slab that rose higher than the others, a pale figure lay, an elf woman of stunning beauty. She was taller than any person Kane had ever seen, practically a giantess. Her blond hair spilled out around her, glittering in the torchlight. Time had not ravaged her - it seemed as if at any moment she would stir and wake - but her dress looked gray and brittle, like it would crumble to dust around her at the lightest breeze. 

“It’s Asura…” Jack said, his voice thick with awe. 

“The goddess?” Kane asked. “You mean she’s real?”

“No.” Jack shook his head. “Not a goddess. An eidolon. All these centuries the elves have been worshipping an eidolon.”

Kane had never heard the word. Before he could ask what it meant, his father said, “Goddess or not, she has the crown.”

He was right. It rested on her belly, looking small against Asura’s large frame.  _ Finally, _ Kane thought, laughing at the sight of it. He stepped forward, but Jack grabbed his arm, an expression of utter shock on his face.

“Something’s wrong,” he said. 

“Astute of you to notice,” Hagen said. The bearded mage chuckled, and then his eyes glowed with a black corona.

Jack cried out in pain, releasing Kane’s arm as he fell to his knees.

“Jack!” Kane said, but then all worry for his friend fled as the room reeled around him. It was as if the bottom had fallen out of the world, as if his bones had been pulled out through his skin. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak.

“Dark mage!” Jack said through gritted teeth. 

Kane couldn’t move. He was on the cool, stone floor. He could see Jack hauling himself to his feet, stumbling after Hagen and Grifford who both ran for the crown. Orin swept Hagen’s feet from under him, but his movements were slow and labored. Hagen was up again before the old monk had recovered from his strike. The bearded mage pulled a knife from his robes, swinging it recklessly. Orin barely dodged it in time.  

“Kane, get up!” Redden said, pulling at the back of his shirt. “You have to fight through it. Move, boy!”

He couldn’t move. His entire body was asleep. He could see Jack clumsily tackling Grifford, struggling for the crown even as Grifford’s eyes lit up with the aether he’d stolen from them. Grifford waved a hand and Jack was flung away. The fire mage landed hard against a nearby slab and was still. In front of him, Hagen stood over Orin’s prone form with his knife raised.

Kane was so heavy, so cold. He couldn’t move.

“Damn it, son!” Redden growled. 

And then the cold fell away. His father’s hand was warm against his back as a Cure surged through him. Kane’s hands pushed against the floor, lifting him up. His feet kicked into a run, still slow and heavy, but moving, and when he drew his sword, his arm remembered what to do with it. He thought for sure that he was too slow, that Hagen would block his strike, but the mage only watched in wide-eyed surprise as Kane bore down on him, stabbing upward through his side. When Kane pulled his sword free, Hagen slid to the floor like a puppet with cut strings. The corona of his eyes faded like an ember. 

“No!” Grifford cried. 

Kane turned. He could see Jack struggling to his feet; the fire mage had a dagger and seemed intent on using it. Grifford, with Asura’s crown in hand, looked rapidly between Kane and Jack, his mouth set in a thin line. Kane felt that same cold pain he’d felt before as the dark mage drew power from him again, but this time he fought through it, throwing himself at Grifford with an animal cry of rage.   

Grifford... twisted. The air around him twisted, and then he vanished. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _9/2/16: Redden talks to Jack about choosing a new surname, and Final Fantasy super-fans will notice that the name he suggests, Figaro, is the name of a kingdom from Final Fantasy VI (as well as the royal family of that kingdom). This is purely for giggles. There will not be guest appearances by Sabin and Edgar. As has been previously mentioned, I’m bad at names. The pirates, the townspeople in Pravoka, upcoming characters in future chapters: I named all of them by pulling up a Final Fantasy wiki and using character names from other FF games. Forgive me._


	26. The Oath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: The Oath from Final Fantasy VIII. Click[here](https://youtu.be/sr4eB0WOwN0) for the original, [here](https://youtu.be/Uf0aV9apxSE) for an excellent symphony performance, or [here](https://youtu.be/r6v65-_dcZg) for a gorgeous piano arrangement that is well worth your time._

_Crescent Lake, Five Months Ago_

Jack woke in his room well before dawn. A lifetime of nightmares had made him an early riser, though he hadn’t had one tonight. He simply had somewhere to be. Using his aether sight to navigate the dark room, he went to the window, flicked the curtains aside, and tried to gauge the hour. The window faced east, and he could see faint eddies of aether on the horizon where they were warmed by the distant sun. Plenty of time to reach the harbor before first light.

Plenty of time indeed, since he’d slept in his clothes. He’d started preparing to go as soon as Bayard said he’d take him. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull his boots on, then cracked his knuckles before he picked up the gloves he’d left on the bedside table. Tired as he was, he had trouble getting the gloves on straight, had to take off the left one and fix the stuffing in the two outer fingers, but years of daily habit won out and he soon had them right.

He finished dressing in the dark, but lit a candle to check over his things, to strap his staff to his back, and to check himself in the mirror. Only his eyes showed above the folds of his yellow scarf and below the wide hat brim; when he focused on them in the dim light, he thought of his father. He had a vague memory of kindly blue eyes looking up at him as he was lifted in the air, but he couldn’t remember his father’s face, and he only thought of Cedric when he tried. The coat had been Cedric’s, the scarf was from Iris, and the orb that rested in its pouch in his pocket was his mother’s. He hadn’t thought of his father in years, yet for some reason he felt a sudden regret that he had nothing of his father’s to take with him on this new journey.

He snuck through the dark and silent house, stepping carefully over and around those places where the floor creaked, but his precautions were useless, for as he passed the parlor a voice from within said, “Leaving without a word?”

He turned and faced Lukahn, his guardian, who waved a casual hand to bring a lamp to life from his usual chair beside the front window. Jack squinted against the sudden brightness. “What words? I can’t think you’d have anything to say to me… Not after all this time. You would have said it by now.”

“No,” said the old man. Simple, direct, but still it hurt. Lukahn never cared for him. _He never will,_ Jack thought. _The only people who cared for me are dead._ “Where will you go?” Lukahn asked.

_He already knows,_ Jack thought, and he felt the unspoken disapproval in the old man’s tone. His shoulders tensed from the effort not to writhe guiltily under Lukahn’s steady gaze. “To find someone to teach me the things I can't learn here.”

“Why?” Lukahn asked, that one word a sharp bark that echoed through the silence.

Jack didn’t answer. It was an old argument, but it was over now, and that knowledge lent him the calm he needed to see this moment through. The aether settled around him like a blanket of snow, thick and numbing; all too often it smothered him, pressed in on all sides, and it took all his will to block it out. He couldn’t seem to make Lukahn understand how hard it was, like learning to write with the wrong hand. Nobody understood. Was it just him? Or were there others like him who struggled the same way?

Lukahn waited for Jack’s answer, but when he received none, he spoke again, more composed this time. “So you’re abandoning your training?”

He couldn't keep the pride from his voice. “It’s finished. I swore the Oath yesterday. Master Randell stood witness.”

It _was_ something to be proud of, something to be celebrated, and Jack childishly hoped Lukahn might be pleased with him at last, but Lukahn only scoffed. “Randell doesn’t know what you are.”

“Neither do you,” Jack said. He walked calmly out the door, heard it close quietly behind him, and realized only then that he wasn’t angry enough to slam it, wasn’t angry at all. He felt only a vague sort of disappointment. Even that faded as he walked through the dim morning, guided by the aether and the fading starlight before the sun rose on a new day.

* * *

_Asura’s Tomb, Present Day_

The air surged in to fill the spot Grifford left behind, ruffling Kane’s hair as it passed. His sword whiffed through the nothingness as he stumbled to a halt.

“Where is he?” he shouted.

“Teleported,” Jack said, leaning wearily against the slab behind him.

Kane roared in frustration. “Damn it! We had him!” His hands shook as he resheathed his sword, the fatigue he’d felt before rushing back.

“Lord Orin?” Jack said.

“I will be alright,” he heard the old man mutter. Orin picked up the torch he’d dropped during the fight, and the light flickered, playing across a prone figure, white-haired and dressed in red, eerily still.

“No…” Kane breathed, rushing forward. “Father!”

Jack held him back. “Calm down.”

“Let me go!” Kane said. He pushed against the mage, but Jack held firm as an iron bar while his own limbs felt slow and heavy once more.

“He’s alright,” Jack said.

He continued to struggle, making no headway. “Swear to me!” Kane demanded, ashamed that his voice broke on a sob. “Swear to me he’s alright!”

“I swear, Kane. Please calm down.”

Kane nodded. He didn’t immediately hurry to his father’s side when Jack released him. Instead, he tried to control his breathing, slowly counting to ten. His voice was steadier when he spoke again. “What happened to him?”

“He’s empty,” Jack said. “You’ve seen it before, with Lena. Hagen drained him, but then he used the last of his aether to cast a spell. I don’t know what he was thinking.”

Kane remember his father’s hand, warm against his back when he had felt so cold and helpless. He groaned, closing his eyes. “He Cured me. He Cured me so I could fight back.”

“That would do it,” said Jack.

“It is well that he did,” Orin said. “I would be dead now if you had not recovered when you did.”

“We all would. They would have killed us, Kane,” Jack said.

Kane rubbed his face with his hands. “I couldn’t move. You three kept fighting, but I… I couldn’t do anything.” His body had never utterly failed him before. Muscle-memory from countless hours of training had always seen him through, even when he’d been too frightened to think straight. Without the ability to fight, there had only been fear. His heart still pounded with it.

“I have fought the Brotherhood before,” Orin said. “I am familiar with the sensation. But I will admit to reacting similarly the first time I experienced it.” He stooped, picking up a dropped torch that had gone out, lighting it again on his own. “We should go, while the torches last. We do not want to be caught down here in the dark with no magic to light our way.”

“We failed,” Jack said, speaking aloud what Kane himself was thinking.

“We survived,” Orin corrected. “And we know where our enemy resides. That is not failure.”

It took longer going out than in. They were all weakened from the fight, and Redden needed to be carried. Kane and Jack hoisted him between them; Orin, in a rare show of his age, was too worn to help. Kane’s legs seemed on fire as they climbed stair after stair, but then the circle of daylight at the cave’s entrance came into view, growing fractionally larger with each step.

Jack’s eyes glowed when they passed the markings that held the aether shield - he breathed deeply in relief - but as they ascended, the mage began to gag. “Oh, gods,” he moaned. “I forgot about the Rot.”

“You’re welcome to go back, if you like,” Kane said.

“Hello?” Refial called, peering over the edge above them. “Guys? Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” Jack asked.

Refial seemed oblivious to Jack’s sarcasm. As they struggled up the last few steps, he paced nervously, quivering with agitation. “Thank the gods! I didn’t know what to do! I think I might have done Grifford some real damage here!”

Jack’s eyes glinted with more than aether. “Grifford? Where?”

Refial pointed. The black-robed mage lay flat on his back some little distance away, sleeping peacefully on one of the tilted stones. Jack transferred his half of Redden’s weight to Kane and hurried over to investigate.

Refial rambled. “I’m so sorry! He just appeared right in front of me! I didn’t know it was him. I panicked! You know I can’t control that spell. I think I overdid it, though. I haven’t been able to wake him! I’ve tried! Do you suppose he’ll be angry? I mean, it’s been at least an hour. Gods, we don’t have to tell him that part, do we?”

“Quiet,” Jack snapped. “Let me think.”

Refial shrank back from his tone. He turned, eyes widening at the sight of Redden’s condition. “What’s going on?”

“Hagen and Grifford attacked us. They’re dark mages,” Kane said, evoking a gasp from the thin pirate. “Is the crown safe?”

“It’s safe,” Jack said, but he stared at the gold and gems much the same way one might stare at a letter delivering bad news.

“Why do I hear a ‘but’ coming on?” Kane asked, moving his hands to grip his father under the arms and drag him out of the stairwell.

“It’s not cursed.”

“Hold on,” Kane said. He wasn’t angry. His mind reeled, but his body was too tired to respond with its usual vigor. Instead, he found a relatively flat stone, up out of the Rot, and set his father down gently, grabbing one of their packs from the pile they’d left with Refial to serve as a pillow for him. Then he walked to where Jack knelt over Grifford. “This crown isn’t cursed?”

“No.”

“We’ve been searching for more than a week.”

“Yes.”

“Because you cast a spell to find the cause of the curse.”

“I did.”

“And this isn’t it? Even though your spell led us right to it?”

Jack sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in that long-suffering way of his. “I keyed the spell to the _cause_ of the curse, not its _source._ I think whoever cursed the king did it to get their hands on this crown. The spells on it…” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut as though his head ached.

“The spells that protect the royal family?” Refial asked. “Were they corrupted like Redden thought?”

“No,” Jack shook his head. “No, they’re still intact.”

“What, then?” Kane snapped, losing his patience.

“The protective spells are the source of the Divine Right of Kings.”

Refial’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? So whoever takes the crown becomes king?”

“It’s complicated,” Jack said. “But if someone was a member of the royal family, had a genuine claim…”

“Someone like the king’s cousin, perhaps?” Orin put in.

“Bahamut’s balls…” Kane said. “Astos is trying to usurp the throne.”

“It is worse than that,” Orin said. “He is doing so with the aid of dark mages. _Cornelian_ dark mages.”

Kane froze. “You think the Brotherhood is behind this?”

The monk looked grim. “I think it cannot be a coincidence.”

There was the anger he hadn’t been able to muster a moment ago, a cold, sinking feeling that settled over him like a weight, but it wasn’t anger that made his stomach churn when he looked down at the sleeping Grifford. “Jack, are you sure he’s a dark mage?”

Jack looked up at him, eyes flat behind a green corona. “I’m sure. He drew off of both of us. I saw it.”

Kane nodded. His hands felt light and useless as he reached for his sword hilt. _I won’t be able to draw it,_ he thought. _It’s too heavy. I’m too weak._ But the steel whispered as he unsheathed it, the sound loud in his ears as though the world had gone quiet to listen to what he did next.

“What are you doing?” Refial asked, horrified.

“We can’t leave him here, and we can’t let him go,” Kane said.

“But the man is unconscious!”

Jack pushed to his feet, backing away, giving Kane space. “Kane’s right. If he wakes up, we may not be able to defeat him.” He nodded to Kane, then turned his back and walked away.

Kane held his sword in front of him, point down, as he stared at the sleeping man. Again he felt like he couldn’t move. _One quick thrust,_ he thought, but this wasn’t like it had been with Hagen, wasn’t a real fight. This was murder. _This is my enemy. This is what it takes to save the world._

A hand gripped his shoulder gently. “Turn away,” Orin said. “I will do it.”

“Orin…”

“I am old, young master Carmine. If I regret this thing, I will not regret it as long as you would. Turn away.” The monk knelt beside Grifford, grasping the mage’s chin in one hand and the back of his head in the other. He looked up at Kane, waiting.

Kane turned, his sword hanging at his side in a posture that should have been casual, but every muscle in his body tensed and his fingers were numb from their tight hold on the hilt. He faced Refial, whose face was pale as he stared past Kane toward Orin and Grifford. The pirate opened his mouth as if to protest.

Kane winced at the sudden dull “crack” that sounded behind him. Refial fainted.

* * *

The others rested as the afternoon wore on, but Jack couldn’t calm his mind. He paced as the others slept, walked a wide circle around their makeshift camp and the mouth of the strange cave, keeping his distance, and his mind played over everything Hagen and Grifford had said to him over the course of their journey. Suddenly, their probing questions made sense. _They were trying to figure out if I was one of them,_ he thought.

He still felt drained. He drew the aether and held it to ease the yawning ache of his empty reserves but it didn’t help. The aether he drew from the air swirled through the hole in his soul without filling it. _It will grow back in a few hours,_ he told himself. A dark mage wouldn’t wait: a dark mage would draw from the souls of his companions. Jack focused on the emptiness and waited, as he always did when he was running low.

He had released his ice spell during the fight; the last of it was wearing off, the heat making the scars across his shoulders itch. He went down the stairs again, studying the ancient writing on the cave walls to pass the time in the cooler air until he could cast it again. Open to the aether as he was, he sensed Kane’s aura before he heard the guardsman approach, knew it was him without even turning to look.

“Aren’t you tired?” Kane said.

“No. Thinking.”

“Me too.” He sat on the stairs a few steps above where Jack stood, and his disordered hair indicated he had had at least a small nap. “If the Brotherhood is behind this, it could be that they’re trying to put a man on the elven throne who sympathizes with their cause. If they frame Cornelia for the curse in order to start a war, if the war goes the way father predicted…”

“They’ll conquer two kingdoms with a single coup,” Jack finished. Kane _would_ think of Cornelia first, but he wasn’t wrong. Jack’s own concerns were more immediate. He sighed, sitting sideways on the step below Kane’s to lean his back against the wall. “Astos told us his contacts in Elfheim often sent him human mages. Do you remember?” He waited for Kane’s nod, then went on, “The elf who sent us to Astos to begin with, Cotto, was the king’s own advisor. What if he’s in on it too? Kane… what if I left Lena at that castle with a spy?”

Kane ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a long breath. “We’ll get her out of there. If we cut east through the hills to the north, we’ll hit the groves. We’d be two or three days from Elfheim, at most.”

“That won’t solve anything. What of the curse?”

Kane arched an eyebrow. “What of it? We have the crown now. The protective spells-”

“The spells didn’t prevent the curse from being cast in the first place. From what I’ve pieced together, the king hid the crown after the curse fell. He knew someone was after it.”    

“Astos,” Kane said. It wasn’t a question.

Jack nodded. “The protective spells are still working, Kane, just like the Divine Right still works. It doesn’t matter where the crown is. I think it’s not curing the curse because Astos is still casting it.”

“Holding it, you mean? Like your ice spell?”

“Exactly. That's why I’m going after him.”

“Of course we’re going after him. That goes without saying.”

“No,” Jack said.

Kane frowned. “You can’t mean to go alone.”

“I do. There’s no time. He knows how to find the crown now. As soon as he realizes his men aren’t coming back, he’ll come for it. We can’t wait for your father to wake up. It might take hours, days, for his aether to recover.”

“We’ll carry him.”

“Be serious. He’s nearly twice Lena’s size. It took both of us to haul him out of this cave. You and Orin aren’t recovered yet either.”

“Neither are you,” Kane said.

“I don’t have to be. Even if I can’t kill him, if I distract him enough, he may lose his hold on the curse. Meanwhile, the rest of you can get the crown back to Elfheim so the elves can keep it safe.”

Kane nodded. “Alright. But I’m coming with you.” The guardsman stood and strode up the stairs.  

Jack hurried after him. “Kane! Astos is a black mage, maybe even a dark mage. You can’t-”

Kane whirled on him, grabbing the front of his coat and pulling hard. His face was calm, but his eyes blazed. “You listen to me. I may not be able to read the aether like you, or to cast any spells, but I can use this sword. I can fight. And I promised my princess that I would protect you. So if you’re off to fight someone, I’m going too. Is that perfectly clear?”

Jack could stop him. One simple Sleep was all it would take, but he couldn’t make himself cast it. He didn’t want to go alone. And he didn’t have to.

He nodded. “If we leave within the hour we can be past the Rot by nightfall.”

“Good,” Kane said, his smile predatory as he released Jack’s coat. “I’ll be ready as soon I’ve told Orin the plan. Get your things.”

* * *

It was only later that Lena remembered Aryon’s door was open. It was usually closed when she arrived in the mornings. She should have noticed something like that, but she’d been tired.

The healings weren’t getting any easier, and that wasn’t a good sign. Every morning she followed the same routine, and every night the curse undid her work. Day after day after day. She was growing to dread it, and the guilt of that realization weighed on her even as she entered the room.

A man stood beside Aryon’s bed. To her, he was tall, though she considered that perhaps he was only of average height for an elf. His hair was long and lank, the blond streaked with gray. His face was worn, with deep lines of worry etched into his forehead, but his straight, pointed nose and the angles of his cheekbones were unmistakably familiar. It was Aryon’s face, only older: the face of the elf king. The mad king.

“Oh, excuse me, your majesty,” she said. She dipped a quick curtsy and carefully backed away.

“Stay,” the king said.

She stopped, suddenly afraid, but the king’s emotions were calm and lucid. _How long will that last?_ she wondered. She could feel a bright spot of joy from Aryon - he was glad of his father’s presence - and that gave her strength.

The king regarded her curiously, taking in her too-large livery. “You are the servant in charge of this room? I don’t remember any humans working here.”

“No, sire, I’m…” She hesitated, wondering how to proceed without breaking her Oath on a lie. Perhaps the gods would forgive a lie in these circumstances.   _I’m what?_ A solution came to her and she plowed ahead. “I’m only working in this room temporarily. But I assure you, I’m taking my duties here very seriously.”

The king seemed satisfied with that answer. “How old are you, child?”

“Seventeen, sire.”

“Seventeen? Hmm. Not a child after all. I never can tell with humans. Aryon was eighteen when this curse struck.” He turned his gaze back to the sleeping prince, his emotions peaceful and calm, suffused with love for his son.  For a moment, he seemed to have forgotten her. She stood quite still beside the doorway, waiting, hoping his mood didn’t change, hoping he asked her no questions she couldn't answer with a clear conscience.

She squeaked in surprise when another man burst into the room. Dressed in black mage robes, he was shorter than the king, and marginally younger, with a thicker build and thinner hair. He smiled at her alarm, and Lena felt his cruel amusement.

“There you are, your majesty! We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said.

Hatred, sharp and hot, lanced through her in such startling contrast to this man’s concerned tone that she nearly cried out again. _He despises the king,_ she realized, focusing on the man’s mind; it felt… oily.

The man continued speaking to Eldarin, leading him toward the door. “There are just a few matters of state we need you to attend. May I escort you back to your rooms?”

“Cotto…” said the king. “Yes, I…” He looked about the room, confused now, as though he was unsure where he was, but then he shrugged. “I seem to have lost track of time.”

“Of course, sire.” His voice didn't match his emotions. Though he sounded like any loving caretaker, he felt disgusted with the king, resentful and… pleased? Pleased that the king was not in his right mind?

Quickly, she called up her soul sight. She didn't dare touch him, but she thought she might be able to do a soul reading as this Cotto passed by. He walked beside the king, his hand on the king’s elbow lightly steering him toward the door, but he walked on the side opposite Lena. She worried he was too far away to read properly, but when he was a few steps away, she realized a proper reading wasn't necessary.

This man was evil, his aura twisted and turned inward. This was a man who cared only for himself, and would stop at nothing to achieve his own ends.

She took a step back, instinctively trying to get away from him, but her long skirts tripped her feet and sent her stumbling. A gentle hand righted her again, and she looked up into King Eldarin’s smiling face. His soul was that of a kind, clever man with a fair nature, a shade of green more yellow than his son’s, but equally pale, besieged by the same darkness.

“Careful, now,” he said. “See that you get that skirt hemmed up. Temporary or not, I would have you work comfortably.”

“Y-yes, sire,” she stuttered. “Thank you, sire,” but Eldarin and his frightening keeper were already out the door.

She leaned against the doorframe, watching them go, and was still leaning there when Gollor swept into the hall. She could feel his relief when he saw her and hurried toward her. “I heard the king had left his tower. Are you alright?”

“You didn’t tell me,” she said. “That he was cursed as well.”

He glanced up and down the hall quickly, as though checking that they were alone. “And what good would telling you have done? You can’t reveal yourself to him; it’s too dangerous.”

“He was kind. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Eldarin would not. But Eldarin is not always in control.” Gollor guided her toward the edge of the bed and motioned for her to sit. His sadness as he sat beside her was heart-wrenching. “He was awake when the curse fell - he often had trouble sleeping. When we couldn’t wake the prince, we found Eldarin in his study, analyzing trade agreements. The curse had already taken hold. If he falls asleep…” Gollor sighed. “The devouts realized they could keep his body awake, but they can do nothing for his mind.”

That was the cause of the madness, Lena realized. The mind needed sleep.

Gollor stared at the floor, the horror of his next words overshadowed by the weariness he felt. “He ordered another devout killed last night. One of his most faithful attendants. She’d done nothing wrong, but the order couldn’t be disobeyed. The guard who did it… We found him this morning, dead by his own hand.” He stood then. Without looking back, he said, “I’ll leave you to your work. But be careful of the king, should you see him again.”

Lena squeezed her eyes shut but couldn’t stop the tears that welled there. She still needed to tell Gollor about the man who’d been with the king, but Aryon needed her now. She felt grief from him - how hard it must be for him to hear about his own father in that way - and she reached down to grip his sleeping hand in hers, to lend what comfort she could, but she couldn’t find the words to speak to him as she usually did; she didn’t want to burden his already troubled mind with her own fears.

She was so tired.  

* * *

Jack and Kane were gone when Refial woke from his faint. He’d been left alone in the marshy wilderness with the unconscious Redden, the very dead Grifford, and the murderous monk. The monk didn’t act murderous: he had been sitting cross-legged in that weird meditation his people practiced, as if he hadn’t just killed someone. He wasn’t nearly so frightening as Redden had been when he woke up a full day later and Orin told him where his son had gone. The Cornelian had flown into a rage that rivaled any temper Captain Bikke had ever conjured, but still it was the monk who made Refial nervous as they crossed the hills west of the groves.

Refial couldn’t fathom why the memory of Grifford’s unceremonious end disturbed him so. He was a pirate, or played at being one. Some of his best friends were murderers. He and the crew had used his Sleep skills for exactly that purpose. It was just that, as a rule, the crew didn’t spend several days hiking and camping with the people they killed before they killed them. It was not the natural order of things. Near a decade sailing around on various pirate ships, and this was the first time he felt like he’d fallen in with bad company.

“Refial!” Redden snapped. “Quit daydreaming and keep up.”

“I _can't_ keep up!” he whined. “For Titan’s sake, man! Can't we rest?”

The bard ignored him, pressing on with grim determination. Even when he’d still been weakened from the fight against the dark mage, he had trudged on, relentless as a tonberry. Though Orin had talked him out of tearing off after Kane, he seemed set on the idea of raising an army to hunt Astos down as soon as they reached Elfheim. Absurd as it seemed, Refial had no doubt Redden could do such a thing.

Likewise, Refial had no doubt that if he fell behind, Redden wouldn’t wait for him. He sighed, only groaning a little bit, and picked up his pace.

They continued in near silence. Though the budding summer heat continued, a west wind carried a hint of sea breeze from the Mondmer. The hills began to slope more downhill than up, and Refial had an easier time of it. At last they left the hills behind and entered the shaded groves. The forest sounds were loud after the quiet of the hills, the calls of birds and insects carried by the wind that swept through the treetops. Soon, one sound rose above the others, the hooting “Kupo! Kupo!” that they had heard before as they traveled north. The sounds grew louder, more frequent.

“What _are_ those?” Refial asked. “They sounded close.”

“Ignore them. Keep walking,” Redden said.

The strange sound repeated ahead of them, but was answered by an identical call from behind.

“I do not think they will ignore us in return,” Orin said.

The older men stopped suddenly. The undergrowth rustled with the movement of some creature. Refial yelped in alarm, cowering behind the monk, as a small, white, furry animal stepped into view. It walked upright, standing no higher than Refial’s hips, but its face was not unlike a cat’s, with pointed ears atop its head. Those ears were laid back as it regarded them suspiciously through narrowed eyes. Refial noticed the spear it carried, and the sharp claws on the fingers of the hand in which it carried it.

Redden reached out and grabbed his arm. “Refial, listen to me, do _not_ try to enspell them. You’ll only make them angry!”

“Kupo!” another of the creatures chirped from off to the side. Refial’s head whipped around, and he noticed that they were surrounded: a whole cadre of the furred beasts hemmed then in, each armed with a short, stout spear.

“But they already look angry!” he cried.

Redden spoke slowly, calmly, and without moving his head. “They’re only curious. If we don’t harm them, they may let us go.”

“ _May_?” Refial squeaked.

“Grow a backbone, man! They’re only moogles!”

He remembered a story his governess had told him when he was small, of tiny winged creatures that delivered messages for noble heroes. Though he noticed now that the animals in front of him did have wings, he couldn’t reconcile them with the story he recalled. “But moogles are a myth!”

Redden made a frustrated sound. “Fine, they’re a myth. They’re also highly resistant to magic. Don’t. Cast. Anything,” he said, enunciating each word with care.

The moogle that had chirped at him moved closer, spear gripped in both hands. Refial stood stock still as it came right up to him, its nose twitching as it sniffed the air. Another moved in on Orin. Refial was afraid to turn his head, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see others moving.

_Don’t panic,_ he thought. _Don’t panic, Refial._

But then the one nearest him poked him with the butt of its spear. The moogle leaped back a step at his strangled cry, but the Sleep flew from his hand before he could stop it.

It fizzled off the soft, white fur of the moogle’s belly. The moogle looked down at the spot, as if it could see the aether dispersing back into the air. Slowly, it panned its eyes back up at him, growling deep in its throat.

“Refial! You fool!” Redden snapped.

The moogles attacked.

* * *

“Honestly, Jack, I feel like you’ve almost got it. The difference since yesterday is phenomenal.”

“Hmm,” Jack said in reply. How convenient for Kane to think it was the ice spell, Jack thought, when it was only the aether getting the better of him again. His fear of the fight ahead of them, too many days on edge, were overwhelming his efforts to keep the ice out of his veins. At least Kane was comfortable in the climbing heat; Jack wore his coat still, and he was freezing in it. The guardsman didn’t seem to have noticed that Jack was wearing two of his scarves, layered double. He pulled his hat down to cover the tips of his ears.

“But still,” Kane went on. “Is it really safe? What happens if we _need_ that power for something, you know, important?”

There was no short answer for that. He couldn’t very well tell his friend that he needn’t worry about the nonexistent spell, but even if he had been casting it, Kane’s concern was unnecessary. Jack’s jaw tensed with the effort to keep his teeth from chattering as he spoke. “It’s never been a problem. When I’m holding the spell, I hardly notice it, but as soon as I release it… It’s like I have all this power I didn’t have before.”

Kane pursed his lips, then nodded. “I can see that. At the guardhouse, we train in full plate sometimes. When I take it off at the end of the day, once that weight is finally gone, I always feel like I could run farther and faster than I could before even though I’m exhausted. Is that what it’s like for you?”

“Yes,” Jack said.

The cold bothered him more as the sun set and the heat of the day began to fade. He resisted the urge to shiver, and pulled from his pocket the seeing stone he’d retrieved from Grifford’s robes before they left the others. It was a useful device, allowing a competent black mage to not only read the aether from over a mile away but to see that far as well. It could see through walls, behind closed doors, and under cover of complete darkness. He suspected they were coming up on the Keep based on how long they’d traveled, and he was not mistaken: Astos’s castle lay just on the edge of the stone’s reach.

The sun was gone when they reached the Keep, though the moon hung full and round in a sky as black as ink. Jack consulted the stone again when they were still several yards away. “He’s in the throne room.”

Kane nodded. “How close would you have to be to use that sleep spell?”

Jack thought of Grifford. Only three days ago, Kane had been unable to kill a sleeping dark mage in cold blood, yet the two of them had decided that was their best plan. The curse had to be stopped, and they still didn’t know if Astos was a dark mage. “I can cast it from the doorway, but Kane… if he’s reading the aether, he’ll know we’re coming.”

“We’ll just have to hope he’s not reading it, then,” said the guardsman, unsheathing his sword, pushing open the Keep’s heavy wooden door. Jack followed, and when they found the castle hallways lit by the torches set into the walls, he felt sure Astos expected them. Fear assailed his mind, but Kane pressed on as though unconcerned. “Keep that stone out,” he said. “Tell me if anything moves.”

They proceeded quietly, walking the convoluted halls until the door to the throne room was open ahead of them. Jack held a finger to his lips as he edged up to the door frame, peeking inside. Astos sat at the table by the window in the corner, just as he had on the day they’d met him. His back was to the door as he leaned over the open book in front of him. Jack drew the aether slowly, not wanting the aetheric currents to attract attention as he shaped the Sleep inside his soul. When he felt it was ready, he took a deep breath, exhaling on a pang of guilt. _To build, to guide, to guard, but never to harm my fellow man,_ he thought. He tried once again to justify it to himself - _It’s only Sleep. It’s not the same as using aether to harm him._  - but he knew he was splitting hairs. _We have to do this,_ he thought. _I have to do this._

The spell flew swiftly and easily toward its target, who slumped forward in his chair.

“It’s done,” Jack said.

“Alright.” Kane stepped forward, sword ready, but his face was pale. “I can take it from here. You don’t have to watch.”

“No,” Jack said, drawing the little dagger he carried. “We do this together.”

Kane nodded once, decisively. “Together, then.”

They stepped softly across the thick carpets. The torchlight stretched their shadows along the walls, long and menacing blades held out in front of them. Jack still held the aether, from fear more than any intent to use it; he’d never killed a man before.

Perhaps if he hadn’t been so preoccupied with the unpleasantness of the task he would have noticed the subtle shift of the aether sooner. Too late, he opened his mouth to sound a warning, but all that came out was a wordless cry of pain. His aether reserves tore away from him even as he continued to draw aether from the room, which slammed into his suddenly empty core with a force that sent him to his knees. He saw Kane stagger as Astos drew from him as well. The guardsman kept his feet, but his sword dipped to the floor, as if he could no longer lift it.

“Did you think it would be that easy?” Astos said, rising fluidly from his seat, brushing off the delicate net of the sleep spell as though it were a cobweb. He’d been waiting for it - it hadn’t taken hold.

Kane rushed forward, teeth bared in a snarl. He raised his sword, swinging it with more control than Jack would have expected, but Astos swatted Kane’s blade away with a sword of his own, a slim, one-handed weapon. With his other hand, the elf lashed out. Weakened as he was, Kane fell after a single rough push. Even from his prone position, he brought his sword around again, but Jack knew it was useless. Astos was stronger and faster. His counter-blow sent the guardsman’s sword flying.

Jack ran towards Astos the second he regained his feet, but the elf raised his hand, eyes glowing, and a wind swept through the chamber, snuffing several of the torches on the walls. It flung Jack backwards; he landed hard on the carpeted floor, but he had no time to dwell on the pain as Astos drew from him again, ripping the last shreds of his reserves away. His head swam.

Astos reached down, picking Kane up by the front of his shirt in one hand as though the guardsman weighed no more than Thad. “I don’t suppose you brought it with you?” he asked, his voice as velvet smooth as if they were conversing around the dinner table. “My crown? Eldarin tried to hide it from me; he never has been one to lie down quietly.”

“It was never yours,” Kane growled, struggling feebly against the elf’s hold.

“It’s been mine for years,” Astos said, easily carrying the guardsman toward the room’s center. “The people just don’t know it yet. I had thought to take it by force when I cursed Eldarin, but seeing as he’s gone quite mad, I won’t have to. Do you know how many elves will die in the war against Cornelia? The people will rejoice when I turn up with the crown and order them to take his head.”

He dropped Kane in a heap. Kane grunted as he landed; he immediately tried to rise again, but Astos drew from him once more and kept drawing, pulling against Kane’s soul even as the guardsman cried out, immobilized with pain. “Considerate of you to arrive on the full moon,” Astos said, chuckling. “I had hoped the rest of the Brotherhood would be here before it came to this, but perhaps I’ll save master Ashward for them, seeing as he’s no use to us.”

_He doesn’t know,_ Jack thought. _He thinks a dark mage would have fought back by now. He doesn’t know what I am._

The elf snapped his fingers and an open book appeared in his hand. He began to read from it, reciting a rhythmic incantation in heavily accented Leifenish. _No, high Leifenish,_ Jack realized. The aether of the room shifted, flowing toward the dark elf in the center as he stood with his sword raised point down over the helpless guardsman. The floor began to glow in a way that could only be possible if there were a ritual circle there, hidden beneath the carpets. The elf continued to draw from Kane, chanting all the while, pulling against that last little speck of power that Kane’s soul refused to release.

_The seed from which all power grows,_ Jack thought, remembering the words of Morgan back in Cornelia’s Black Hall. _Can you imagine what it would do to a dark mage’s power if he was able to rip the seed out?_ He hadn’t been able to imagine it when the old man told him, but he knew with a certainty that if Astos killed Kane now, he would see it. He had to stop the ritual.

Jack struggled to his hands and knees, struggled to push to his feet. Astos thought him drained and beaten, no longer a threat. Had Jack been an ordinary black mage, Astos would have been right: Jack’s soul was practically empty, his reserves nonexistent. But Jack wasn’t limited to his own soul.

He drew from Astos. It was not like it had been when he drew from Gollor back in Elfheim. Gollor had been willing. Gollor had been incapable of pulling back. Astos stuttered, dropping the book in his surprise, turning to Jack with a look of pure hatred, but even as his incantation stopped, the aether began to move, swirling around the circle. Jack was too late. Astos slammed his sword downward, but Kane was no longer there; the guardsman had taken advantage of Astos's distracted state and dragged himself to the circle’s edge, trying to reach his own fallen sword. Astos screamed in rage, summoning the aether to haul Kane back into the circle.

Jack stabbed him, once. He didn't remember stepping forward to do it, but suddenly he was there, clinging tightly to Astos as he forced the short blade of his dagger into the man’s gut. Astos gasped, facing Jack with utter betrayal in his eyes before the corona in them flared as he formed another spell. Jack drew from him again, cutting it off.

The Oath echoed through his mind: _Never to harm my fellow man._

_What have I done?_

_Do you know what we do to Oathbreakers where I come from?_ His first words to Refial.

Astos glared at him as the corona faded, a glare of disgust and contempt. _He knows what I am now. Oh, gods, help me, he knows._

_Never to harm my fellow man…_

_Oath-breaker._

_Dark mage._

But even as Astos died, the aether didn't stop moving. Jack screamed as it rushed into him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _9/9/16: The Astos fight was one of those scenes I couldn’t wait to do. Like, way back when I started chapter 1, my inner fangirl was fangirling so hard over that scene, couldn’t wait to get there. As soon as I started writing the Elfheim stuff, I got excited – I was so close!_   
>  _And then it was written._   
>  _And I had to write the scene after that. It was so anti-climatic. Is this what writing is, guys? Is it always like that?_   
>  _Before I go, let me just say: moogles. Look, I love moogles, but I fear the moogles are too much. Even in a Final Fantasy fanfic, full of Final Fantasy in-jokes, I can’t help but feel that adding moogles is taking it too far. But of the five people I let read these chapters before I post them, four of them said the moogles were perfect._   
>  _The fifth one said the moogles needed more screen-time._   
>  _What do I know? I’m just the writer._


	27. Duty and Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Duty and Friendship from Final Fantasy VII Crisis Core, which is just a beautiful soundtrack altogether. Click[here](https://youtu.be/2u_74xeZXdE) for the song, which is short and melancholy, much like this chapter. _

Kane's hand closed on his sword as he felt an otherworldly force pulling him back. He saw Jack stab Astos, but then the rest of the torches died, all of them at once, snuffed out as though by a great wind. In the darkness, Jack started screaming, an agonized wail that went on and on.

“Jack!” Kane called to him, trying to go to him, but his limbs felt full of lead, and Jack seemed impossibly far away. Every bit of him felt heavy, like he’d never be able to move again.

The only thing worse than the screaming was the completeness of the silence when it finally stopped.  _ What happens to the Warriors of Light if he’s dead?  _ Kane wondered, ears alert for the slightest movement, for a single word, a single breath. “Jack?” he called again.

Jack didn’t answer him. 

Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the dimness. A beam of moonlight from the window illuminated two still figures sprawled across the carpet ahead of him. Sheathing his sword to free his hands, he pulled himself along the floor, his muscles protesting all the while. Jack was on his side, his face hidden by his hands and the scarf he wore. Kane could see his shoulders shaking.

_ Not dead, _ he thought, and he held fast to that fact as he drove himself forward. He realized Jack was muttering in Leifenish, a mournful, repetitive plea that might have been a prayer, but then he drew close enough to hear the words.

Though Leifenish was part of a royal education - and Kane had been educated by the princess’s own tutors - he hadn't seen the point of learning the language of a fallen empire. He had forgotten most of it as soon as he learned it. But these words, he understood. They were simple words: over and over, Jack was saying, “No. Please, no.”

“Jack, talk to me!” Kane said, almost yelling as he forced himself to move. 

“Kane...” Jack said, and his voice was so small and broken. The mage lowered his hands, and Kane could see his eyes shining with aether, his tears glistening in the corona. “Kane, it hurts. The ritual… I couldn’t stop it… I couldn’t stop it…” He started sobbing.

_ Ritual?  _ He reached Astos’s still form, found the book the elf had dropped, but there wasn't light enough to read it. He squinted over at Jack; the mage appeared uninjured, but he cried from some terrible pain. “What did he do to you?”

“He damned me,” Jack murmured. “Oh, gods, I damned myself. I can feel it.”

Kane became aware of the cold, an icy chill radiating out from Jack, and he feared the black mage more now than he had when Jack lost his temper in Gollor’s study, when Kane had seen firsthand that black magic needed to be strictly controlled. His friend held the aether now - it shone in his eyes. How much control could he possibly have over it at this moment? 

_ Give him something to focus on, _ Kane thought. “Jack, listen to me. We have to get out of here. He said others were coming. You can’t face them like this.”

Jack didn’t move from his place in the floor, hopeless, even as frost began to form on his shoulders. “Let them come. Let it end.”

_ No, _ Kane thought. He crawled closer to his friend, pulling roughly at Jack’s coat as he tried to get both of them to their feet. Weak and dizzy, he couldn’t manage it; the mage had gone completely limp. “No. Get up. You have to get up, Jack.” He couldn’t let the mage lay down and die when he had promised Sarah he would protect them... All of them.  _ Lena, _ he thought.  _ That’s it.  _ “What would I tell Lena if anything happened to you?”

Jack looked up at him. Kane had never looked this closely at the corona before; he could still see Jack’s eyes under all that light, could see a flicker of focus returning to them. “Lena?”

“We have to go back for her, remember? She’s waiting for us. She could be in danger.”

“Yes,” Jack said, pushing up on his elbows, but then he hissed a sharp breath. “Can’t… H-hurts.” The floor beneath his hand where he braced himself became a patch of ice at his touch. “It's too much… I can't control it. You have to run!”

“No,” Kane said. He couldn't have run if he tried. He wasn't sure he could stand. 

Jack reached for the dagger that lay in a pool of blood beside Astos. 

_ He means to kill himself! _ Kane thought, but the mage only closed his eyes with the dagger in his hand, and when he opened them again, the corona in them had deepened from white to a dark, glittering black. 

Jack grabbed Kane’s upper arm, his fingers digging in. “Brace yourself.” 

Kane’s stomach lurched. He felt a weightless, rushing sensation, like he’d been thrown from the edge of the world, followed by a jarring force as if he’d fallen several feet. He was still on the ground, only now the ground was a soft bed of grass and leaf mold, the air scented with pine. Trees obscured the moonlight. The only other light was the glow of Jack’s eyes, but as Kane watched, those eyes rolled back. The mage fell forward with a muted thud, his grip on Kane's arm gone slack. 

Kane shivered, but the summer night air soon warmed him again as the unnatural cold faded.

* * *

Refial woke with a splitting headache in a place that smelled uncomfortably of wet dog. He had woken in unexpected places before, generally hungover with little memory of the preceding events, so his current situation was not entirely out of the norm. Nor was this the first time he had woken with his hands tied. But the tree was new - to the best of his recollection, he had never woken tied to a tree.

A harsh voice whispered, “Nice of you to join us.” 

The sunlight filtering through the branches shone exactly in his eyes, but he squinted against it to find the speaker, Redden, similarly tied to a tree nearby, resuming a whispered conversation with the monk who was bound beside him. “For the last time, no. If this patch of Rot is part of what we passed through on our way north, we’re closer to the Keep now than to the city.”

Refial looked around, noticing the state of the trees, how some of them seemed to droop and wither where the Rot had spread.  _ That explains the smell, _ he thought. He noticed that some of the trees had what appeared to be little huts made of bundled sticks under them, as if they were in a village for very small people, and it was then that he remembered the circumstances leading up to his current predicament.  _ Attacked by moogles like a character in a story, _ he thought. He could see a few of them several yards off, paying him no mind as they worked away at a fallen tree. He winced as the sounds of chopping and sawing echoed painfully through his skull, remembering how one of those furry little bastards had knocked him with its spear.  “My head…” he moaned. “Could I get a Cure over here?”

Redden glared. “When my son was a child and picked fights with the other boys, do you think I Cured every injury he earned with his own foolishness?”

“I’m sorry!” Refial said. “I panicked, alright? It was reflex! I told you I was a coward and  _ you  _ insisted on bringing me along.”

Redden sighed, and though he sounded annoyed, Refial could feel a Cure soothing his throbbing head. “Yes, well, consider yourself fortunate if I bring you along when we leave here… wherever ‘here’ is.”

Refial grinned, relieved that someone at least knew what they were doing. “Leaving? You two have a plan?”

Orin nodded, face serene. “Escape these ropes, retrieve our belongings, and walk away from here.”

Refial stared, waiting for the rest. When Orin merely smiled, he said, “That’s a terrible plan. What if they attack us again? I don’t know if you noticed, but there are quite a few more of them than there are of us.”

Redden rolled his eyes. “Look, they’ve already lost interest in us. If we don’t attract their attention, they won’t even notice we’re gone. I told you before, they were only curious. If you hadn’t offended them, we’d be long gone by now.”

“That still leaves the question of how we free ourselves.”

Orin wriggled a bit, the smallest, most innocuous of movements, and suddenly his hands came free. “Moogles are clever beasts, but terrible with knots.”

Refial stared. He tugged at his own bonds. They were quite secure. “How-” 

“Ready?” Redden said to the monk.

Orin stood, rubbing his wrists, and then bowed. “I am ever ready.”

And just like that, he vanished. 

“Huh?” Refial said. He felt invisible hands untying his own. “How…?” 

“An old white mage trick,” Redden said. He leaned forward, and Refial could see the ropes around his wrists writhing as the knots seemed to untie themselves. When his hands were free, the bard sprang up and reached down to haul Refial up after him. “Come on. This way.”

The two of them entered the forest, giving the moogles a wide berth. “They’re normally peaceful creatures,” Redden said. “I think we just caught them at a bad time. With the Rot encroaching on their village, they’re probably a little on edge.” 

They traveled in silence for perhaps a quarter hour before Redden stopped him with a firm hand on his arm. “Were you successful?” the bard asked.

“Yes,” said Orin’s voice from the path behind them. Refial shrieked, but managed to curb the impulse to throw a Sleep in that direction. A pack dropped onto the path as though it were appearing from nowhere. Redden opened it, checking its contents, and Refial saw the golden gleam of the crown nestled safely inside.

“Alright,” Redden said, passing the pack to Refial. “Do you know how a compass works?”

“I’m a pirate! Of course I know how a compass works!” Refial snapped indignantly.

“Good,” said Redden, pulling one from his pocket and holding it out for him. “If I’m right, Elfheim is a few days south and east of here. Get the crown to the king, no matter what.”

“Me?” Refial squeaked. “What about you?”

“We are returning to the Western Keep,” said Orin’s voice. “To find young master Carmine and master Ashward, and to help them if we can. The crown cannot come with us. You must carry it back to its rightful place in the city.”

“I can’t hike through the forest by myself!”

Redden snapped, “For Bahamut’s sake, Refial, there’s nothing dangerous in the groves. Elven children younger than Thadius camp in these woods. You’ve faced greater peril on the open seas!”

“With a crew of seventy men at my back! What if-” He stopped at a noise in the trees, looking about frantically, but it was only a bird. When he turned back to Redden, the bard was gone. Refial’s breath caught in a choking gasp.

“Relax,” Redden’s voice said from near where Refial had seen him last. “You’ll be fine. There’s a little food in the bottom of that pack, and a flint and steel in the front pouch if you need a fire. I know you can hunt for yourself. We’re counting on you, Refial.”

“Be well, master Fortem,” said Orin.

“Don’t go!” Refial said. “Please! I’m no good at being alone!” But when there was no answer from the two men, Refial realized he  _ was _ alone. He stood, dazed, holding the pack and the compass in suddenly numb hands. A moogle’s cry echoed through the trees. Refial turned and ran. 

* * *

When the sun rose, Kane realized he recognized this part of the forest: they were in the groves, in the place where they had camped before they entered the Rot on their way north. Somehow, Jack had teleported them across miles of landscape it had taken them the better part of two days to cross on foot. It was miles farther than Kane had been led to believe a single Teleport could take someone.

He paced. He stretched his sore limbs. He found a peach tree nearby and ate some of the fruit. He flipped through the strange book he’d been holding when Jack Teleported them away; there were illustrations of creatures out of nightmare, but he couldn’t read the Leifenish words that described them. 

He waited as Jack slept. Kane didn’t try to wake him. He wondered if the mage might have emptied himself, and if so, how long he would have to wait for his friend to recover, but it was only mid-morning when Jack stirred, gazed blearily at his surroundings, and asked,  “Where are we?”

“South of the Rot,” Kane said. “You brought us here. Do you remember?”

Jack groaned. He sat up, moving slowly, squeezing his eyes shut again.  

Kane waited for the mage to speak, but when he didn’t, Kane said, “I didn’t know you knew that spell.”

Jack sighed. “I wasn’t sure I did. I knew the theory, but I’d never tried it. It always seemed too dangerous.”

“So testing it on me seemed a good idea?”

“I’m sorry. It was the biggest spell I could think of.” His voice took on a lecturing tone, as it always did when he was explaining a magical concept. “Astos had a ritual circle hidden in that room. Circles like that funnel aether into the mage at the center. It was too much for me to control. I had to use it on something.” He sounded so matter-of-fact about it; there was no sign of the distraught, broken man Kane had seen the night before, the man who was ready to die. 

_ Perhaps it was the pain speaking, _ Kane thought, but he doubted it. “That ritual, you said you couldn’t stop it. What happened back there?”

Jack’s eyes went soft and sad again, his gaze fixed on the forest floor. “What happened is that I broke my Oath in every possible way. By killing Astos in that circle, I did to him what he was planning to do to you.” Jack shook his head, fetching his hat from the ground beside him and putting it on to shadow his face, but not before Kane noticed the tears welling in his eyes.

“It's not your fault, Jack,” he said.

“I killed him,” Jack said, his voice steady and without emotion. “I used my power against him and then I killed him. How is it not my fault?” The mage pushed to his feet. “We don't have time for this. Are you ready to go?”

“Go? Jack, you can hardly stand!”

“I’ll manage.”

“Another hour-”

“No,” Jack said, cutting him off. “Astos said he’d cursed Eldarin to get the crown. The king, Kane. They’re both cursed, and the elves didn’t tell us. This is bigger than we thought.” He turned to walk unsteadily off into the trees, heading east. Though his knees shook, Kane had no choice but to follow.

* * *

Thad hurried toward Aryon’s room. Carrying a covered tray for Lena, he whistled as he walked the empty halls. It was nice to make some noise for a change. He’d spent the past few days sneaking around, quietly following an elf named Cotto about his boring business. Lena said the balding elf was evil, and Gollor had agreed that it couldn’t hurt to keep an eye on him, but so far the king’s advisor had done nothing more exciting than trip over a rug one time.

There were more people in the royal wing where Cotto conducted his daily affairs, and Thad enjoyed watching them. These halls seemed abnormally silent by comparison, the sort of halls where ghosts would be found. Though he’d been told the king had come to visit the prince recently, Thad had never yet seen anyone else in this part of the castle, as if the other elves had forgotten Aryon. 

He felt badly for the prince. Thad couldn’t imagine being trapped in his mind like that with no one to talk to. He could hear talking now, coming from down the hall. Lena tended to talk to Aryon as she worked, but today she sounded upset. He sped up his pace, recognizing, as he got closer, the words of Leviathan’s prayer. 

“-with me on the waves throughout all storms. I hold to the tiller and trust in your will.” 

Thad hurried toward Aryon’s door, found Lena on the bed, kneeling over the prince. Her hair hung across her face, the red curls lank with sweat. The glow of white magic enveloped her arms nearly to her shoulders, but beneath her hands, the prince was shaking, violently. The normally smooth bedding was disordered, the sheets pulled free at the edges, pillows and blankets knocked to the floor. Frantic and desperate, Lena began the prayer again: “Sweet Leviathan, lord of the seas, be with me now as the tide turns. Be with me when my soul and my sails are empty. Be with me on becalmed waters and be with me on the waves throughout all storms. I hold to the tiller and trust in your will.” 

“Lena?” Thad said.

“Get Gollor!” she snapped. “Sweet Leviathan, lord of the seas, be with me now-”

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with him?”

“The curse is breaking, and it’s taking him with it! Go!” 

He dropped the tray and ran, but she was praying again before he’d made it out the door: “Be with me now as the tide turns...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _9/16/16: A friend recently got me hooked on Final Fantasy Brave Exvius, a mobile game that is free to download. Unlike other mobile games I’ve tried, this one actually has a real story to it. The two main characters, Rain and Lasswell, remind me of Kane and Jack. Rain is more happy-go-lucky than Kane is, and lacks Kane’s temper, but he’s a natural swordsman, pure-hearted and honorable. Lasswell is the serious one, quiet and moody, who wears a spiffy coat and occasionally uses ice magic. He’s more confident and sure of himself than Jack is, though. I’m not very far into the game’s story yet, but I’m really enjoying it._   
>  _None of that has anything to do with Final Fantasy: Fated. I just thought I’d mention it._


	28. Out of the Frying Pan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Out of the Frying Pan from Final Fantasy X, or from Final Fantasy IX, as both games feature a song by that title. Give both a listen and decide which you prefer. Click[here](https://youtu.be/BmPF4tAKjLs) for the one from FFX or click [here](https://youtu.be/lZJZ9cKQVbw) for the FFIX version._

Kane felt more like his old self with every mile they put behind them. Just as well since, at Jack’s urging, they hiked through the groves like hunted men. Though the mage made no other displays of emotion after that first morning, he moved with a restless energy: he hardly ate, hardly slept; even when they stopped to rest, he paced nervously, never sitting still. He seemed none the worse for it, but Kane found it extremely worrying.    

It was almost surreal, like a dream, when they at last entered the city once more. They reached the castle gate late in the day. The guards on duty, different guards than they had seen on their first visit, dressed in plate armor rather than the brown hardened leather they’d been wearing before, were reluctant to admit them. Kane understood the guards’ hesitation, given how he and Jack must appear after days of hard travel through the forest, but it took considerable convincing to get the guards to send even a short message to Gollor.

“I don't like that,” he whispered to Jack when a messenger finally ran inside. “Either these particular guards take themselves too seriously, or they’ve tightened security on the castle.”

The messenger returned only minutes later. Kane and Jack were allowed in, though the guards watched them suspiciously as they took the path around the side of the castle toward the servant’s entrance closest to Gollor’s rooms. The old man was waiting for them at the door. “Thank the gods. This way, quickly,” he said, motioning them to follow him within.

He didn’t speak again until he’d ushered them into his study, closing and locking the door behind him. He looked between the two of them and his brows drew together in concern. “Where are your companions?” he asked.

“They’re not back yet?” Kane asked. He turned to Jack. “They should have been here by now, surely?”

“We don’t know how long it might have taken your father to recover,” said Jack, shaking his head. To Gollor, he said, “They were fine when we left them. Kane and I took a different path.”

Gollor settled into a chair, motioning for them to sit as well though neither of them did.  His voice was weary as he said, “Something happened, didn’t it? Three nights past?”

Jack stiffened at those words. “Did the curse break?” he asked breathlessly.

Gollor sighed. “Yes. And yet, no. It’s as strong as ever, but Aryon grows weaker by the day. Its nature has changed. It used to exist independently of the prince; now, it’s using the prince’s life force to sustain itself. Lena says it’s dug in like a tick.”

“How is she?” Jack asked.

“Tired,” said Gollor. “We all are. The king has grown especially paranoid. The entire castle is on high alert.”

_That explains the guards,_ Kane thought. He said, “We found something that may help, but we left it with my father. He was supposed to be here before us.” He sighed. _No time to worry about that now._ “We need to tell Lena what we’ve learned. Where can we find her?”

“She’s with the prince,” Gollor said. “It will do her good to see you’ve returned safely.”

Kane nodded. “Come on, Jack.”

But as Kane moved toward the door, Jack didn’t follow him. “Go without me,” he said.

Kane stopped with his hand on the door handle. That drive to reach Elfheim so quickly, the force that had kept the mage going these past few days, it had been for her, hadn’t it? He looked at Jack, but as usual those blue eyes revealed nothing of what he might be thinking. “What?” Kane asked.

“I need to have a word with Gollor,” Jack said. His voice was level, but he dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Gollor will wait,” Kane said, glancing at the older mage who nodded in agreement. “Come on.”

“I can’t,” Jack said.

“Why not?”

“She’ll know what I’ve done,” Jack said, no more than a whisper, but Kane heard the guilt in his voice.

Kane remembered Jack saying, _“I did to him what he was planning to do to you.”_ But that wasn’t his fault! he thought. He spoke sharply, his tone reflecting his slowly rising anger. “You saved my life. That’s what you’ve done. Lena will understand. Now come on.” He grabbed Jack’s shoulder and propelled him toward the door.

The mage pulled back against Kane’s grip. “I can’t,” he said more forcefully than before, but with panic in his eyes, as cowardly as Refial had been outside that Leifenish ruin.

Kane stared at his friend, but released him, perhaps more roughly than he would have liked. He counted silently to ten before he spoke, though there was still an edge to his voice as he said, “Have it your own way, then,” and left the room.  

By the time he reached the prince’s hallway, the anger was gone, replaced by weariness. It was beginning to set in at last just how long the journey for the crown had been, how focused they were on getting back here, to this place, to the white mage who waited just inside this room, and now here he was at the open door.

She didn’t notice him at first, as she bent over the prince and worked whatever spell she was doing, murmuring quietly to him as she recited Leviathan’s prayer. Kane leaned against the door frame, waiting, letting her gentle voice sooth him as well, but then the glow over her hands faded. She wiped the back of one hand across her sweat-soaked forehead and stood, sighing, arching her back as she stretched. Then her eyes went wide as she noticed Kane and she stumbled as she ran to him.

“Kane!” she said, throwing her arms around him, beaming. “Oh, Kane! I was so worried about you!”

Tiny as she was, she still squeezed him hard enough to hurt, but he didn’t care. He hugged her in return, lifting her bare feet from the floor as he did. _Jack will be sorry he missed this,_ he thought, but Kane knew he would never tell him. It would have been cruel.

* * *

Jack tried not to fidget as Gollor read his aura. The old man’s eyes glowed blue-green, squinting over at him, not seeming to look in any particular direction as he read the aether. “Strange,” Gollor said as the corona winked out. “Remarkable. How do you feel?”

“Like my skin will split open,” Jack said. “Gollor, I’ve never held this much aether before.”

“But you feel that you are in control of it?”

“I am now, but it won’t last. I can feel it slipping. When I-” He still had trouble thinking of himself this way. He stopped, took a deep breath and tried again. “When I drew power from you, I had better control for a little more than two days. It's been longer than that since I drew from Astos.”

“You drew more from Astos than you did from me,” Gollor pointed out.

“I stole the man’s soul!” Jack snapped.

Gollor gave Jack a level look. “You stole his power, not his soul. Don’t buy into those fear-monger stories; you’re smarter than that.” The older mage looked down at the ancient book Kane had taken from Astos’s dead hands. “I’m afraid my high Leifenish is not up to this task. I see here the ritual you described, but I don't know enough to tell you if this thing can be undone.”

Jack sagged in his chair, hanging his head. “I can’t stay like this. If I lose control of this much aether…” He thought of the moment immediately after the ritual, when grief and fear had overwhelmed him and the ice had begun to form, and he shivered. For Cedric, it had been storms, but for Jack it had always been ice. “So much can go wrong.”

“If it worries you so, have you considered drawing power from someone else? The control it brings you does seem a tangible benefit.”

Jack frowned at the idea. “I’ve gone my whole life without that.”

Gollor shook his head. “You’ve nearly doubled your reserves. It would have taken decades of dedicated training to achieve those sort of gains naturally, decades in which you would also have been learning to control that power.” He looked down at the book again, his lips moving as he ran his finger over the page. Jack waited, not wanting to disturb him. Finally, Gollor said, “You should be dead.”

“Thanks,” Jack said dryly.

“No, look here. It seems to me that you shouldn’t have been able to complete the ritual against someone as powerful as yourself. If I’m reading this correctly, it’s usually not done on mages. Astos's power, your power, and the aether flowing through the circle should have been enough to kill you. How did you survive that surge?”

“I used it. All of it. On a Teleport.”

Gollor’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Teleport is an aether-intensive spell, but it wouldn’t account for the amount of aether the ritual-”

Jack squirmed. It seemed uncomfortably like bragging to go into detail about what he’d done that night. “Thirty miles. Give or take.”

“Thirty… Thirty miles?”

“With Kane.”

Gollor spluttered, “But… but he must outweigh you by-”

“A stone and a half, I’d say.”  

“Remarkable,” Gollor said again. He looked down at the book once more, squinting in concentration.

“That isn’t all I wanted to talk to you about,” Jack said. “Seeing as how Astos turned out to be a dark mage, I’m wondering if Cotto is entirely trustworthy.”

The old man looked up sharply at the mention of that name. He stared at Jack for a long beat, then said slowly, “Yes… yes, I already know about Cotto.”

“What happened?”

“Lena encountered him a few days ago,” Gollor said, and Jack’s breath caught. “Nothing untoward happened, I assure you,” he added quickly. “But she was quite shaken. I was surprised to hear her assessment of him: partly because he’s never done anything to arouse suspicion, and partly because none of you felt the need to mention she was a soul reader.”

“You never thought to tell us the king was cursed,” Jack pointed out.

Gollor chuckled bitterly, looking back down at the book as he spoke. “Well, we all have our little burdens, don’t we? Cotto may be the least of our concerns.”

“What did she tell you about him?” Jack asked.

“Nothing I can act upon. He may have been working for Astos, but we have no reason to think he’s a dark mage himself. Besides, Cotto has the trust of the king, and we dare not confront the king in his madness. I’ve set Thadius to watching him; it’s the best I can do for now.”

“Thad? But he’s a child!”

“The boy is a sneak and a thief - a talented one, if you haven’t noticed. A great observer of people. He reports to me in the afternoons, but so far has had nothing of note to say about the man.” Gollor returned to the book, signaling an end to that line of questioning.

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ease a brewing headache. The room was too warm for his taste. He clutched the little knife at his belt, wondering if he had enough control to hold the ice spell, but decided against it. _With this much aether, I might freeze the entire room,_ he thought. Instead, he shrugged out of his coat, letting it drape over the back of his chair, and moved toward the window, opening it to the evening air. It wasn’t any cooler outside, but at least there was a breeze.

He turned at the sound of voices outside the door, raised in anger, and recognized the speakers before he could make out the words. The door opened, and as Jack had expected, Kane and Thad came in together.

“It’s good to see you, too!” Kane shouted, his tone at odds with his words. “Glad to know you didn’t pine away for us while we were gone!” He looked at Jack, shrugging as if to say, “Can you believe this?”

The gesture wasn’t lost on Thad. He crossed his arms over his chest and snapped, “You abandoned us!”

“Abandoned?” Kane said, affronted. “We left you here for your own good!”

“So _you_ say!” Thad all but yelled.

“Enough!” Gollor said sharply. “Thadius, what did you find?”

Thad sighed, sagging a little. “Nothing really. He never does anything. He’s either with the king or studying in his rooms.”

“Where’s Lena?” Jack asked, ashamed at the flutter of panic he felt at the thought of her.

Kane must have sensed his mood. “She asked about you,” he said. “I told her you were here. She said she’d come when she’s done healing the prince.” He sat in a chair across from Gollor, leaning back to stretch his long legs out in front of him. “In fact, she kicked me out so she could get on with it.”

Gollor smiled, but shook his head. “It takes her longer than it did. A week ago, she’d have been done before...” He trailed off mid-sentence, staring at the book in his lap, then sat a little straighter as he held it up to read it better. “I don’t believe it…”

“What?” Thad said.

“The curse came from this book!”

Jack leaned in to see what the old man had found, resisting the sudden urge to jerk the book from Gollor’s hands. It would have done him no good: in high Leifenish, he understood perhaps one word in three. “What am I looking at?” he asked.

“I can’t be sure,” Gollor said. “It’s exceedingly complex. The ritual would have taken days. But I think this passage might be a counter-curse...” The old man turned the pages slowly, skimming the words. An illustration on one page showed an aether flow, another showed a hideous, tentacled beast. “By all the gods…” said Gollor, tracing his hand along the words that accompanied the picture.

“What is that?” Thad asked.

“That almost looks like an ochu,” said Kane, standing over them and peering at the book upside down. “I thought they were plants…”

Jack sighed. “They are, but that does us no good.”

“Why not?” said Thad.

Gollor explained, “There are no ochus anymore. Their aloe was the primary ingredient of elixir, purportedly the greatest healing potion in the world. They were hunted to extinction over it near a century ago.”

“But I’ve seen one,” Kane said. “Matoya had a little one in a pot.”

Jack did grab the book then, turning it toward Kane and pointing at the illustration. “You’re sure that’s what you saw?”

“Of course I’m sure. I asked her what it was. She specifically told me it was an ochu.”

Jack looked at Gollor and saw in the old man’s face a reflection of his own surprise. “Could an elixir break the curse?” he asked.

Gollor shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know. Perhaps the devouts can-”

There was a commotion in the hallway, a loud clanging that grew closer and closer, finally resolving into the figure of Segeth, Gollor’s granddaughter. She stood panting in the open doorway, dressed in the same plate armor the gate guards had been wearing, face tight with worry. “Thad! What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” the boy said quickly, darting farther into the room so that Kane was between him and the door.

“You must have done something! Cotto’s ordered us to collect you for questioning. He’s saying you’re a Cornelian spy. The other guards will arrive any minute.”

“But I really didn’t do anything this time!” Thad squeaked. “I’m not even Cornelian!”

“He must have seen you following him,” Gollor said, standing and putting a hand on Thad’s shoulder. “Come, I know a man in the city who will hide you.”

At a sound in the courtyard outside, Jack turned back to the window. He could see a cluster of guards moving toward the servant’s entrance. “It’s too late,” he said. “They’re already blocking the doors.”

At a shout from down the hall, Kane leaped to the door, looking out, then quickly shut and bolted it. “They’re coming. What will they do to him?” Jack noticed the way the guardsman’s hand went to his sword, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.

“That depends on what Cotto tells the king,” said Gollor.

Someone pounded on the door. The bolt held, but Kane leaned against it regardless. Thad squealed in fright.

“Jack,” Kane said. “Can you Teleport us out?”

Jack could only stare at the guardsman. His skin tingled with aether already; it surged within him like a storm-tossed sea. If he drew more, he feared it would overwhelm him, like trying to pour that sea into a bucket. “I can’t,” he said. “What I did before... Those were unusual circumstances.”

“Just Shipman, then? Can you do that?”

“You only have to get him out of the castle,” Gollor said. “It won’t take as much power.”

“I don’t think I can control it,” Jack said.

Gollor moved closer. “Draw from me,” he whispered.

“No,” Jack said through gritted teeth.

“Do it. And get him out of here. They’ll kill him if you don’t.”

The pounding on the door increased. Thad began to cry. Jack realized he was afraid too: afraid for the boy, afraid of his own power, afraid because he realized he wanted to do as Gollor suggested. The aether in him roiled with his fear; he could feel the air around him getting colder. _I won’t be able to control it anyway. If they break down that door, if they try to take him…_ He had no choice. His breath quickened as he made up his mind. “Thad, how much do you weigh?”

“Why would I know something like that?” Thad sobbed, throwing his hands up in clear frustration.

It didn’t matter; the boy was small enough. “Kane,” he said. “Tell Lena I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

_Everything,_ he thought, but he said, “Leaving her again.”

It grew quiet. The pounding against the door stopped, replaced by the pounding of Jack’s pulse in his ears. _I didn’t get to see her,_ he thought, suddenly unable to remember why he’d been afraid to face her.

“I will,” Kane said.

A loud boom shook the door. “They’re going to ram it down!” Segeth said, bracing herself against it beside Kane.

Jack looked at Gollor; the old man nodded. Jack drew from him, slowly at first, still afraid, but then the old man’s aether hit Jack’s reserves and those rough seas became as calm and still as glass. When he stopped, Gollor sagged against the wall beside the window.

At another crash against the door, Jack covered the distance between him and Thad in two long strides, grabbing the boy by the back of the neck and holding firm. “Take a deep breath,” he said.

He grabbed a thread of aether flowing through the room and pulled hard.

It was easier this time. Everything went black for an instant, as though he’d blinked too long, and when the light came rushing back it was different. He felt a jarring sensation traveling up from his feet to his knees, as if he’d jumped down from a high place, and suddenly they were outside in the slanting light of the sunset in Elfheim’s harbor town, a good five miles or more from where they had been. A few dockhands nearby gasped and hurried away, apparently surprised at their sudden appearance.

Thad, blinking in shock beside him, released his held breath on a scream.

“Stop that!” Jack snapped, uncomfortably aware that they had already drawn more attention than would have been wise. _What was I thinking, aiming for the harbor like that?_ he thought.

Thad’s hands flew up to cover his mouth. The scream faded to a whimper, but then even that died off. Jack worried he’d frightened the boy, but when Thad turned to him, there was more awe in his gaze than fear. “We’re at the docks! We were at the castle and now we’re at the docks! How did you do that?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out. It went better than I expected.” He was breathing harder than normal, as though he’d run across the small harbor town, but otherwise, there seemed no ill effects. He still had perhaps a third of his aether reserves sitting still as a stone in his soul while, around him, raw aether flowed by as though he wasn’t there. Was it truly that easy? Did a dark mage _need_ to draw from others in order to keep the aether at heel? _But Cedric never mentioned it…_ Jack thought. _Why?_

“So where are we going?” Thad asked.

_Where indeed,_ thought Jack, looking about. A few sailors and dockhands still stared at the two of them, murmuring, but none approached them. Why _had_ he come to the harbor? _Matoya,_ he realized. _If an elixir can break this curse…_ He could see the _Sahagin Prince_ farther down the quay, waiting. “Come on,” he said, striding off toward the docks without even glancing back to see if Thad followed him.

The crew saw him coming; there were shouts as he approached the ship that could either have been greetings or alarm. By the time he reached the gangplank, Gabbiani waited there for him, flanked by several armed crew-mates.

“Captain,” he said. “Is the ship repaired?”

“Aye, for some days now. Where are your friends?”

“That’s why I’m here. Lena’s trying to heal someone. There’s a rare ingredient, an herb, north and east of Cornelia. We need to get it.”

Captain and crew only stared at him, hands to their weapons. Jack waited, remembering only then that he still held the aether, that his eyes would be glowing with it, and that pirates were afraid of black mages.

“It’s true,” said Thad, coming up behind him. “We have to hurry! Lena could be in trouble if she fails.”

The captain regarded Thad quizzically, then turned and had a quick, whispered conversation with some of the crew, who broke away and ran toward the town. “Need to gather in a few of the boys who’ve gone ashore, then we can shove off,” he said. “Get aboard, and stay out of the way.”  

Once on deck, Jack stood by the railing, eyes closed, massaging the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He’d released the aether, hoping that without the corona the men would be less frightened of him, but the power drained out of him so very slowly. _Another consequence of having more power?_ he wondered. _How long before I know the full extent of what I… what Astos did to me?_

But it was there, with his eyes closed, that his fading aether sight picked up a pulse in the aether. He blinked and lost it, whatever it was, against the backdrop of the crew moving about the deck. He reached for the aether once more, shutting his eyes as his aether sight returned to full strength, and there it was again.

“Thad!” he called. “Come here, please.”

The boy’s green aura approached him from across the deck, and without the distraction of his physical eyes, he noticed the way the aether shimmered in front of Thad, like the heat haze over Crescent Lake on the hottest days of the year. He opened his eyes, and could see it there still now that he knew to look for it.

“What?” said Thad, looking down at his shirt. “Is there a stain?”

Jack shook his head. “I think it’s the orb. It’s doing something.”

The boy pulled on the chain around his neck, retrieving the orb that the sailors called Syldra’s Tear, the lucky charm they all believed made the winds blow fair. Jack held his hand out for it, and Thad obligingly passed it to him.

Jack closed his fingers over it as he closed his eyes again. It glowed like a star, the aether changing and shifting and swirling in his hand. “I can see it,” he said, though it came out in an amazed whisper.

“See what?” said Thad.

“The wind.” All of it, every breeze in the world was connected to the orb, not with the force of a hurricane, but through threads of aether no thicker than spider silk, through currents of air smaller than the force of a butterfly’s wingbeats. _I can see them,_ Jack thought, and in his closed fist he could feel them, running through him to get to the orb. _I can control them._

“Get the captain,” he said.

Jack didn’t know much about sailing, but he suspected they were about to make some _very_ good time.

* * *

“I thought you were done healing him for the day,” Kane said, sitting in the chair Thadius normally used to read to them in the afternoons.

“I was,” Lena said, as she bent over the sleeping prince. “I am, really. But…” She glanced over at the guardsman, noticed that he leaned the chair back on two legs the way Thad sometimes did. The difference, though, was that Kane’s feet still reached the floor. As she turned back, her eyes skimmed over the leather coat lying across the foot of the bed. “I may not have been as thorough as I would have liked. I was trying to hurry.”

She had been too slow. How her heart had thundered when she approached Gollor’s study and saw the hallway full of castle guards. She had waited, cowering around a corner, for them to leave, wondering what her boys could have done in the short time they’d been there to draw such attention, but when the guards finally left, Kane and Gollor had told her it had been Thad they were after. _He must have been so frightened,_ she thought.

Kane had been frightened for him, she knew, but his fear had slowly given way to a simmering anger, half-fueled by an overwhelming sense of helplessness - there was nothing he could have done for Thadius. The guardsman’s emotions sat in the back of her mind like a warm coal in a hearth, pleasant, even if the emotions were negative, and she realized she had been… bored wasn’t the word, but yes, bored. Aryon dreamed more often than not anymore, giving off no emotions at all, and Thad spent more time away with Gollor. It was nice to feel _something_ outside of herself.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to see him,” Kane said.

“Hmm?” she said, but then she realized her gaze had gone back to Jack’s coat. He’d left it draped over a chair in Gollor’s study. She didn’t know why she’d carried it to Aryon’s room with her. _Because he’ll come back for it,_ she thought, knowing it was foolish. “Oh, it’s alright. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s run away without me when there was trouble.” She tried to smile, but she knew it for a poor jest.

Kane scowled. “That’s not funny. He felt terrible about that.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just… I would like to have seen him again.” She bent close to the prince, trying to focus on the healing spells, on smoothing over the bits of Aryon’s aura left rough by her earlier rushed efforts. “The days all seem to run together without… ” she said absently, not really thinking of the words. She stopped, catching herself before she could say anything awkward. “Without all of you here.”

Kane grew thoughtful, and for a time she was able to ignore him and resume her work more thoroughly, but then he spoke. “I think he really cares for you. I think if he had it to do over again, he would have burned those pirates to a crisp rather than risk you.”

“You’re wrong,” she said. “If he cared for me in that way, I would feel it.” But even as she had that thought, she wondered if it was true. She rarely felt anything from the mage. “Besides, I’ve read his soul, remember? He’s no killer. I know what that would do to him.”

Kane’s face didn’t change, but emotionally, he reeled. A sick, twisted-gut sensation struck her from him as he ducked his head, making a thorough examination of his own boots.

“Kane, what is it?”

The guardsman shook his head. “I wasn’t going to say anything. It’s not my place.”

“About what?” Lena pried.

Kane’s lips tightened into a thin line. She felt his internal struggle, the room practically rang with his shame. He kept his eyes down as he said, “He killed a man to save my life. That was why he wouldn’t come see you: he was afraid you’d take one look at him and know. He couldn’t bear it.”  

For a moment, she could only stare. His emotions and his words together were like two people shouting at her at once: she had to run what he’d said through her mind again before it began to make sense. She realized it wasn’t Kane’s own shame that filled the room, but the shame that Kane felt on Jack’s behalf. _Oh, Jack,_ she thought. “Thank you for telling me,” she said. “I don’t know how I would have reacted if I had felt what he must be feeling right now without any warning.” _But would I have felt anything from him at all? Surely he couldn’t hide something like this..._

She turned back to the prince, trying to remember what she’d been doing. Her hands hovered over him, and she stared at his aura without seeing it.

“What’s it like for you?” Kane asked. “As a soul reader, I mean. Do you only feel that others are sad, or do you actually feel sad yourself?”

“It’s hard to tell sometimes. It’s easier with strangers, to separate my own feelings, but with friends… Surely even you feel joy when your friends are happy, and sadness when they’re grieving. It’s like that for me, only stronger.”

“And pain?” the guardsman asked. “Do you feel that too?”

“Sometimes. It depends on how people handle pain. Some people, when they get hurt, they let the pain happen. Others get angry about it, or sad, and it all gets tangled together. I’ll feel their pain right alongside the other emotions.” She didn’t tell him that some emotions were painful, that the heartache of shame and grief and sadness was real and physical. He hadn’t asked. “Kane?”

“Yes?”

“Would you… would you leave me to this, please?”

“Of course,” he said, feeling as relieved as she did that this conversation was over.

When he’d closed the door behind him, she gathered her wits long enough to finish tending Aryon - she hadn’t much left to do, after all - but she didn’t leave the room. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled Jack’s coat into her lap. It smelled strongly of leather and ink and old books. _Of him,_ she thought. She’d never seen him without it, except for that night at the ball. Now that she looked closely at it, she could see that it was older than she had realized. Though the leather was cracked and stained in places, it had at some point in the past been warded, and the white mage who had done it had taken great care in the warding: every thread of every seam was Protected. This coat might be older than she was.  

She ran her hands over the wards, admiring them, but stopped when she felt something in the righthand pocket. _Boys and their pockets,_ she thought, remembering some of the oddities she’d seen Thadius carry around, wondering what sort of thing the tall and silent mage would have squirreled away, and she couldn’t resist the urge to look.

It was a conch shell.

* * *

“I don’t think she’s in any danger,” Gollor told him as they ate a small supper in the old man’s study. It was a simple meal, a chicken roasted in some manner of elven spice, but compared to what he’d been eating as he traveled through the groves, Kane found it delectable. Gollor went on, “I don’t think Cotto sees her as anything more than a servant. But he knows Thadius supposedly worked for me. He knows I’m the one who had him followed. I don’t believe he cares about Thadius one way or the other. I think he only meant to send me a message.”

“A threat, you mean,” said Kane. “‘Back off, or else.’”

“Exactly.”

Kane sighed, finishing his meal in the silence that followed, disturbed only by the night music of the frogs sounding through the still-open window.

“You’ll have to see that Lena eats something,” Gollor said, nodding toward Kane’s empty plate.

Kane looked at the darkness outside. “So late? Hasn’t she had anything already?”

“I’m afraid not. Thadius usually saw to it. She becomes very focused on her work, to the point of forgetting to eat.”

Kane ran the words through his head but it was as if Gollor had spoken a foreign language, nonsense words that Kane’s brain couldn’t fathom. “Forgetting to eat?” he repeated. “Is that… Is that a real thing?”

Gollor chuckled, and was still chuckling when Kane left him.

He didn’t encounter a single soul on his way back to the prince’s rooms. The entire wing seemed abandoned. Gollor had told him it would be, with the castle staff limited to the barest essentials, but the empty castle still made him vaguely uncomfortable. Castles should not be empty.

She was still there, as Gollor had predicted, curled into a ball at the foot of the bed, asleep, wrapped up tightly in the long coat Jack had left behind. He noticed now that she did look a little thinner than she had been, her face pale against the dark leather.

_You have to protect them,_ Sarah had said. _Do you know how hard it is,_ he asked her in his mind, _to protect someone who doesn’t have sense enough to eat?_ He slipped his arms beneath the white mage, but she didn’t stir, and although he got lost twice trying to find the room near Gollor’s study where she slept, he didn’t wake her to ask the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _9/23/16: In case you forgot, I love Final Fantasy music. (All my chapter titles for this story come from FF songs.) I once saw the Distant Worlds concert in Omaha and Nobuo Uematsu himself was there. He sat in one of the middle rows, right in front of a guy in a very impressive Sephiroth cosplay. When the legendary composer was escorted to that seat, Sephi freaked out, muppet-flailing in pure joy. It was quite a sight._   
>  _That said, although I was sad that Nobuo retired from making Final Fantasy music, I was so excited to hear that Yoko Shimomura was doing the music for Final Fantasy XV. I loved her work on Kingdom Hearts and Legend of Mana. If you’re as excited as I am about that, go over to YouTube and look up the London Philharmonic Orchestra’s recent “Final Fantasy XV Live at Abbey Road Studios” concert. There’s some great stuff in there, and I can’t wait to hear it in the context of the game._


	29. The Truth Revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: The Truth Revealed from Final Fantasy X, which is basically a synth-y remix of To Zanarkand. Melancholy and full of angst, just like this chapter. Click[here](https://youtu.be/DSp3mihuaDQ) to hear it on a thirty minute loop. _

Light shone from several of the windows in the Western Keep. It had been Redden’s first clue that something was amiss. If the boys had succeeded against Astos, they would not have stayed; the Keep would be dark. If Kane and Jack had failed, why would one man alone require so much light? 

Redden waited, lying in the deeper shadows of a hillside as the evening set in, half submerged in the muck of the Rot west of the old castle. He tried not to grind his teeth as his stomach churned, sensitive to the blighted aether, but better to feel a little ill than to be vulnerable to any scrying spells coming from inside the Keep. Any mage hunting for him in the Rot would have to know exactly what he was looking for.

It was only because he himself was on high alert that he sensed Orin’s return, the barest whisper of careful footsteps against the soft ground as the Vanished monk approached. “Well?” Redden asked.

“The Keep holds several emissaries of the Brotherhood. There is no sign of your son, nor of master Ashward; I have reason to believe they escaped without attracting the ire of these men.”

Redden sighed, feeling a knot in his chest ease at this news. “And Astos?”

“Dead. His body lies in the throne room, apparently where he fell. The Brotherhood do not seem interested in granting him a proper burial, only in ransacking his treasures.”

Redden frowned. Naturally, if there was anything of value among the books and artifacts Astos had collected, Redden did not want the Brotherhood to have it, but he was not a strong enough mage to know what the cultists might consider important.

The ground beside him squelched as Orin sat down, still invisible, but Redden knew that beneath the invisibility, the older man was coated in a thick layer of sludge. “You are sure their aether sight cannot see me through this rotten mud? They seem to have no other defenses in place. I believe we could make quick work of them.”

“No,” said Redden. “No, let’s watch them first. Watch and listen. When we know what they plan and what they want, then we kill them.”

“Very well.”

He heard the monk rise, saw a bit of ground shift as he walked away, back toward the Keep. Redden rubbed his hands through the muck, through the Rot, spreading more of it over his already filthy clothes and body. He shuddered at the feel of it, but forced his revulsion down, Vanished himself, and followed.

* * *

Someone shouted down from the crow’s nest - the one called Leo, Jack thought, though he was too busy at the moment to pay attention. 

“Ease off,” said the captain at his back. “We’re near enough.”

He nodded, pulling his focus back from the orb, letting the wind die down. Some of the crew cheered as the taut sails slackened somewhat.  _ But only the younger ones, _ Jack noticed. When presented with the evidence that black magic could make a three day trip in only two days, the younger men had been quick enough to overcome their fears.  _ They haven’t feared black mages as long as the others. _

Jack released the aether reluctantly, feeling more keenly the toll the magic had taken on him without the power of the orb to buoy him up. Thad’s orb hadn’t made him more powerful, but had somehow acted as a lever, as a self-contained ritual circle, allowing him to shift more aether than he would have been able to on his own - more, in fact, than he ever would have imagined - but only for working the winds. He’d had a little time the night before to study the two orbs - his mother’s red one and Thad’s green - but had found nothing to indicate the little charm he carried with him held anything like what he’d seen in Thad’s. He still had no idea what the little spheres were capable of. Now, though, thanks to Astos, he thought he knew what they were: aetherite.  

He turned, and Captain Gabbiani nodded to him, acknowledging his work, but Gus, at the ship’s wheel, flinched away from him still. Jack didn’t mind frightening this one, at least - though Lena had forgiven the bulky pirate for his part in the Pravokan attacks, Jack remembered how he’d seen Gus attack her on the bridge heading into town. He suspected the pirate knew he remembered; Jack was sure it showed in his gaze. “Anything else?” Jack said to the captain.

“We’ll take it from here,” said Gabbiani. 

He took the few stairs down to the main deck and relaxed on the bench beside the door to the captain's cabin, watching the crew trim the sails. They’d swept around Cornelia’s eastern coast, aiming for the bridge that led north out of the kingdom. Gabbiani believed it was far enough from the city to avoid unwanted attention from the Cornelian guards, and Jack knew he could find Matoya’s cave from there. 

Setting his hat in his lap, he let his head fall back against the cabin wall and closed his eyes.  _ Less than one full day to the cave if I don’t stop at that lagoon, _ Jack thought.  _ Another day back. Two more days sailing. _ Perhaps more, unless his reserves recovered quickly, for as exhilarating as it had been to control the winds, it had taken a lot out of him.  _ How many days does the prince have? How many days can Lena keep going? _ Gollor had told them she was tired, had said she had trouble completing her healings by the end of the day.  _ How long until she can’t anymore?  _ His thoughts were disturbed by the sound of a clearing throat. When he looked, he found Thad sitting on the bench beside him.

“Can I have my orb back now?” the boy asked, holding out a hand for it.

Jack passed it to him. 

Thad slipped the long chain over his head, letting the orb hang outside his shirt. “I’m going to learn to do that someday, you know.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Jack said.

“I mean it,” Thad said. “I saw the aether lots of times while you and Kane were gone. I’m this close to being able to see it on command.” The boy held his hand up, thumb and forefinger no more than an inch apart. “This close!”

Jack grinned at that. His scarf covered it, but the boy grinned back in any case.

While Thad held the orb in front of his face, squinting at it with first one eye and then the other, Jack sat, eyes closed, revelling in the opportunity to sit still for once, to not have anything pressing he needed to attend to. Such moments had become few and far between since he’d begun this journey, wrapped up in the prophecy of the Warriors of Light. He wondered again if the gods had made a mistake. 

There was another shout from the rigging, alarmed this time. Jack looked up and saw Leo, leaning forward as he pointed. Several of the men ran to the front of the ship, looking out across the water toward a pass between two great cliffs. Thad leaped up immediately and went after them; Jack followed. 

The pirate crew stood murmuring at the railing, not even seeming to notice when Jack elbowed his way between them to stand beside Thad. He didn’t know what he was looking for at first, but then Thad said, “It’s gone!” and he knew: these were the cliffs north of Cornelia, but where Jack and his companions had journeyed from that kingdom only a few weeks ago, there was now nothing but a jagged chunk of stone ending in empty air. The once-repaired bridge was broken again, fallen into the sea.

“Another quake?” one of the men said.

“Has to be,” said another.

“Enough gawking!” the captain snapped. “We’ve a ship to land. Aim for that stretch of coast there.”   

The crew brought the ship around, laid anchor, and lowered a little boat to take Jack to shore. Cole and Felder, Kane’s friends, did the rowing. Thad sat in the front of the boat, bouncing in excitement. “Are you sure you want to come, Thad?” Jack said. “I would have thought you’d opt to stay on the ship.”

“I’ve been stuck in that elvish castle for two weeks! Why would I want to stay on the ship?” said the boy.

“He knows if he stays with us, we’ll put him to work,” Felder said. 

As the shore drew closer, the two young pirates leaped into the waves to pull the boat in and stood watching on the beach as Jack and Thad walked north. The land sloped up, away from the water, into hills and stony ridges. Within an hour, Jack recognized the rocky pass where they had stopped their first night out of Cornelia, but now it was strewn with several stones, some quite large, that had fallen down from the slopes above them. “There really must have been another quake,” Thad said, eyeing the stones suspiciously. “I wonder how the city’s doing?”

Jack only shrugged.

The forest beyond the pass was worse. The earth itself had shifted. Huge swaths of trees tilted in places where the forest floor had cracked and split. “Wow,” Thad breathed. “Is it safe to go through here?”

“I suppose we’ll find out,” Jack said, stepping forward to test his footing against a fallen tree. When he settled his weight on it, it groaned ominously. He could both feel and hear movement ahead of him as he disturbed some delicate balance he could not see.  _ Unstable, _ he thought, relying on his aether sight as he squinted into the dark undergrowth, searching for a way to proceed.

“What happens if there’s another quake while we’re in there?”

Jack stepped back, knowing it was too perilous to try. “It would end badly,” he said. He considered every spell he knew, but none seemed useful in this situation except perhaps Teleport. He did calculations in his head.  _ It took half a day to get to the cave through all that forest. How many miles could it be? _ But even as he contemplated it, he looked inward, measuring his reserves, and found them lacking. 

He removed his hat long enough to rake frustrated fingers through his hair, and his head felt colder without it. He felt cold all over, actually, without his coat. As if he hadn’t enough to worry about, he realized he had only a matter of hours before the ice troubled him once more. He would need to settle his emotions before that happened.  _ Unless I draw aether off of someone else,  _ said a small, traitorous voice inside him. 

Thad stood off to one side, peering curiously into the trees, his green aura glowing with vibrant energy.

“Thad,” Jack said, not knowing what he intended to say. Even as the boy looked over at him, he wasn’t sure what he meant to do next. When the words came, it was as if they were being spoken by someone else. “Listen, we can’t go in there. I can try to Teleport us past the forest, but I don’t have as much power as I did last time - I used it controlling the winds to get us here. If I do this, it’s going to feel… unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant, how?” Thad asked.

“A bit draining,” he said, as the back of his mind screamed,  _ Am I really doing this? _

The boy cocked his head, pursing his lips in thought. “Picking our way through this mess would be draining too. And it doesn’t look very safe. We’d probably save time.” He shrugged his shoulders, as if coming to a decision. “Go ahead. I trust you.”

Thad’s faith in him nearly changed his mind. He could wait, wait however many hours it took for his own aether to replenish, rather than take from Thad.  _ But then what? _ he wondered. Would he have to wait as many hours again to Teleport them back? The ice would surely return by then, made worse by the power he’d stolen from Astos.  _ When Lena is safe, _ he promised himself.  _ I will learn to control it again as soon as she’s safe. But for now, I have to do this. _

“Alright,” Jack said. “Take a breath.” He stood beside the boy, putting a hand on Thad’s shoulder, trying to fix in his mind an image of the beach in front of Matoya’s cave, then, quickly, he drew from Thad and from the raw aether at the same time. 

In the instant before he finished the spell, he heard Thad’s breath catch, felt the boy tense against the sudden pain. He immediately regretted his actions.  _ Never to harm my fellow man… What am I doing? I knew it would hurt. _ And then his knees nearly buckled as he found himself on a sandy beach rather than a leaf-strewn forest floor. He clung hard to Thad’s shoulder for a moment as a purple haze filled his vision but it cleared as soon as it came, leaving him with a pounding headache and a yawning hole where his reserves had been. He was shocked at how close he’d come to emptying himself, something he hadn’t done since he was a child barely in control of his abilities.  _ How many hours might I have lost then? _ he thought, breathing heavily. “Thad?” he said.

Thad bent over and vomited on Jack’s boots. Jack stepped back carefully, unsteady on his feet from his own exertions, and waited at a respectful distance as Thad gasped and heaved long after his stomach was empty. “I’m sorry!” the boy choked out. “I didn’t mean to do that! You said it would be bad! I should have been ready!”

“No, I deserve that,” Jack said, finding a clean patch of sand where he could sit down. The aether sight made his head hurt worse, but he checked Thad’s aura before he let it go and found that the boy was fine. Jack hadn’t pulled much from him, only what he’d needed to finish the spell. Unpleasant though it might have been for him, Thad would recover much faster than Jack. 

The boy straightened, panting, looking down the beach, and Jack followed his gaze toward the forest they’d passed over. There was evidence of the quake even on this side, trees fallen or tilted, with perhaps a change to the shape of the hills in the distance. Jack couldn’t be sure.  _ We really had no choice, _ he thought, though he knew, deep down, he had had the choice to wait, the choice to tell Thad the truth.

“Jack?” Thad said, and when Jack looked toward him, he found the boy’s eyes locked not on the forest south of them but up the beach to the north, toward the cave, and he turned his own eyes that way.

“Oh, no,” he said, stumbling to his feet. 

The front of the cave had fallen in, huge stones marring the once-smooth floor at the cave mouth. The two of them climbed clumsily over them, both weak. It was dark inside, but Jack hadn’t the aether left to light the torches.  _ If I pulled from Thad again-  _ that traitorous voice said, but he cut the thought short, gritting his teeth. _ No, never again.  _ There was daylight enough to see the door that led to the room where the old witch made her home. 

“Matoya!” Thad cried, scrambling past Jack and throwing the door open. “Matoya!” There was a soft scraping sound, as of someone running into a sentient broom, and Thad cursed. 

“I’m here,” the old witch called, laughing. Jack had a glimpse of her eyes glowing blue-green in the darkness, and suddenly a few candles sprang to life. 

The room was overturned. Literally, overturned. Her many tables were upside down, their contents arrayed across the floor. Nothing was broken, her various bottles and boxes all lay on their sides as though she had known they would fall over if she left them standing. A fire rose from the spot in the middle of the room where Matoya’s cauldron had hung before; the cauldron sat on the floor beside it, also upside down. Beyond it, Matoya sat in the only upright chair, hands folded gracefully in her lap. 

“You’re alright!” Thad said.

The witch smiled jovially, showing her few remaining teeth. “I’m fine, though I thank you for your concern.”

“You saw it coming,” Jack said. 

“Hard to miss, handsome” she said. “Biggest quake yet. I suspect Cornelia may be pretty bad off just at the moment. Please excuse the mess. I’d have tidied up for you, but you two are earlier than I expected.” She squinted her blind eyes at them, the corona sharpening. “Did you Teleport here?”

“Part of the way,” Jack said.

The old woman chuckled. “That’s a very aether-intensive spell… must have taken nearly all of your reserve.”

“I’ll recover,” he said flatly.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Matoya said. “And you, boy, come closer. Let me get the bearing of you.”

Thad obligingly approached the witch’s chair, stopping in front of it as she ran her knobbly old hands over his face. Jack shifted uncomfortably; there was no way she could fail to notice that part of the boy’s reserves had been used. She said nothing about it, only scrutinized the boy through her aether sight for a long moment. 

“I’ve seen the aether!” Thad said, wriggling somewhat impatiently. “Three times!”

“Have you? Seems to me you’ve had a right adventure since last you came this way.”

“We did!” Thad said, smiling. 

She held her hands out in a way that invited Thad to take them, then said gently, “Why are you here?”

“Can’t you tell?” Jack asked. “You can guide us to Pravoka, you can predict an earthquake, but you didn’t know we were coming and you don’t know why we’re here?”

“I never said I didn’t know you were coming. But I didn’t know you were coming today. And, no, since you asked: I don’t know why.”

Jack had trouble believing that. He waited for what seemed an interminable amount of time, but the old woman only stared at him with her glowing eyes. He cut to the point. “You have an ochu. We need it.”

“Out of the question,” she snapped, so fiercely that Thad jerked away from her. She didn’t appear to notice, focused as she was on Jack.

“That ochu may be all that stands between Cornelia and a hopeless war,” he said.

“Oh, it’s to save Cornelia, is it? The kingdom that outlawed my kind and turned me out? Still no. I’m disappointed, handsome. I would have expected this from your stocky friend but not from you.”

Jack struggled to keep his voice from rising. “I don’t have to be Cornelian to see the merits of avoiding an unnecessary slaughter!”

“If you  _ were  _ Cornelian, you’d know they have it coming,” said the witch.

“Please!” Thad said, stepping forward to take the old woman’s hands in his, squeezing them earnestly. “Lena’s in danger!”

Matoya cocked her head at that. “The white mage girl?”    

Thad nodded. “She’s trying to break a curse! She can’t leave until we bring her the plant thing!” 

The witch turned her head toward Jack, eyes glittering. “Which is it, handsome? Are you saving Cornelia or are you saving the girl?”

“We don’t have time for your games,” Jack said. “Please.”

Matoya rose from her chair and tottered over to a corner where a pot Jack hadn’t noticed before growled and lurched at her approach. The old woman waved a hand at it, and Jack recognized the effects of a sleep spell. “The girl is important. You four are important.” She stood over the plant, her head tilted down as though she were looking at it, though she couldn’t have been. “Do you know what I went through to acquire this sprout?” she said, sighing. “Elixir was my last hope.”

Jack didn’t know what to say. He waited, teeth clenched, unsure how to handle this sudden change in the witch’s behavior, but Thad spoke, his voice full of child-like concern. “Why did you need elixir? Are you sick?”

_ Not everything can be fixed, _ she had said when Lena tried to find the cause of her blindness. Jack patted his pockets, hoping, relieved to find what he was looking for was still there. “Elixir won’t Cure your eyes,” he said.

“Don’t you think I know that, you wicked boy?” Matoya said, bitterly.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, stepping closer to her. He clutched at one of her hands, pulled it up, and set the Leifenish seeing stone in her open palm. “I can’t Cure your blindness, but would you trade the ochu for the ability to see?”

She gasped, and Jack could see images in the seeing stone. The view flicked rapidly about the cave, inside and out, lingering on Thad briefly, and on himself a bit longer.

“Oh,” she said, and Jack saw tears running down her face. “Oh… to see!”

“Will you trade?”

The witch ignored him, focused on the seeing stone. 

“Matoya?” Jack said after several minutes waiting, desperation edging into his voice.

Matoya swatted at him. “Impertinent whelp! Let me enjoy the moment!”

“It’s just that we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

The witch growled in her throat. “Always about you, isn’t it? You should know, I see a future where this trade causes disaster for one of your friends.”

_ I don’t care, as long as it saves Lena.  _ “We’ll handle it,” he said. “Please, we have to go back.”

“I will trade.” She shook her head, as if coming out of a daze, then pocketed the seeing stone and looked up at him through her aether sight once more. “Take your prize and go. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Jack sighed in relief, motioning for Thad to pick up the sleeping ochu in its pot. “Thank you,” he said. “Goodbye, Matoya.” He was halfway to the door when he realized the boy wasn’t with him. He turned back, to see Thad standing unmoving beside the old woman. “Thad?” he called. The boy didn’t so much as twitch, motionless, without even the rhythmic stir of breathing. Somehow, Jack’s eyes were drawn to the fire, an orange glow that neither moved nor flickered. 

...It was as if time had stopped.

The attack came then, a force pushing against his soul, ready to draw, but Jack had had enough of that for a lifetime. With all his will, he grabbed the force that drew against him and he drew back. It was instinctive, unconscious, and it wasn’t until Matoya cried out in pain that Jack realized he had drawn from her. “No!” he shouted. 

The old witch laughed bitterly. “So you are one of us, after all.” 

“You?” he said, unable to think clearly. “Why?”

“Would you have told me if I had merely asked?”

“You’re a dark mage,” he said, but there was no certainty in his voice.

“I am, just as you are.” 

He had questions, so many questions, but suddenly his mouth was too dry to speak. “Can you… Can you control it?”

“I never tried.” She wandered back toward her chair. At a wave of her hand, another chair righted itself nearby and she motioned for him to sit. He glanced nervously at Thad, but the boy still hadn’t moved from his place near the corner. Jack sat, and when he was settled, Matoya continued. “No one seemed to notice it, you see, the way the aether flowed into me and through me, altering time as it went. I heard tell of a girl from the countryside who couldn’t help but draw attention to herself: everything she touched turned to stone. Me though, I was never late to any engagements, always had time for my studies, for my various pursuits. What does it do to you, handsome?”

“Ice,” he said, staring down at his lap. “Matoya, you were right. I’m no fire mage. If I don’t concentrate every moment of every day…”

“It’s better that you do,” the witch said, nodding. “We try to be black mages, but we’re not. We’re more like white mages than anything else.”

Her words were like a slap in the face. He’d tried so hard to live as a black mage, to ignore what he was. “How do you figure?”

“Because white mages draw their power from the purity of their own souls. And we dark mages draw ours from the purity of everyone else’s.”

Jack scowled.  _ Never to harm my fellow man…  _ “I can’t live that way. I won’t.”

“Listen, boy. The raw aether is impure. Every foul aura - every evil deed - going back through the history of mankind survives in the aether. Black mages can filter them out. We can’t. If you let the aether in, those impurities come with it. I went years, decades, before I noticed the effects, before the corona burned out my eyes.”

Jack remembered the poisoned aether at the ruined temple where they fought Garland, and how sick he was after he used it, how his eyes ached. He remembered the dead mage they found outside. “Aether burn… Do you mean to tell me you survived aether burn?” 

Matoya nodded. “It only afflicts dark mages. That’s why it’s so rare.”  

Jack’s heart pounded, as though he were afraid, but he buzzed with the aether he’d stolen from the old woman and though his emotions roiled, the ice did not come.  

Matoya gazed at him through a corona gone purple. “It isn’t the end of the world, handsome. Not yet. Not while the Warriors of Light are still fighting for it.” She leaned forward to rest her hand on his cheek, on top of his scarf. “I’m glad to know one of the prophesied Warriors is like me. Who better than one who has known darkness to understand why light is worth fighting for?”

For the first time since Cornelia, the weight of the prophecy seemed too heavy. “I don’t know how to be a dark mage.”

“You  _ are _ a dark mage. It’s not something you know. But you have been avoiding your dark magic far too long. Some spells come easier to dark mages, you know.” 

“I do well enough for myself.”

“You really don’t. Watch closely.” She waited, seeming to know the exact moment he was ready, and then snapped her fingers. The aether reshaped itself around her like a group of dancers in a ballroom. It turned, and Jack turned with it. There was a sensation of rushing movement, and he could hear Matoya cackling as he fell backwards, as he was Teleported away but his chair was left behind. 

He could feel time rushing back in around him as he landed softly on the sandy beach where Cole and Felder had deposited him and Thad only that morning - their footprints were still there. The boy stood blinking beside him, holding the potted ochu in his arms. 

“What?” Thad said, looking up and down the beach in confusion.

Jack shook his head, rising to his feet. He heard a shout from across the water - someone on the ship had spotted them. Thad waved out to sea, but then the sleeping ochu stirred and growled. Thad squealed, holding the pot as far as his arms would stretch. 

Jack cast Sleep on the creature, realizing only afterwards that his reserves were not approaching empty as they had been when they reached the cave: he still had the aether he’d drawn from the old woman.  _ But… But that means she Teleported us all this way on only a fraction of her power... _

_ Oh, gods. I really don’t know how to be a dark mage. _

_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _9/30/16: In my author’s note for chapter 21, I mentioned that I basically had to re-do my outline for the entire Elfheim section. Here’s the scoop: We’re far enough in that I can talk about this without spoiling anything, but, yeah, Jack is a dark mage. If you go back and reread from the start, it’s probably obvious in hindsight, but I hope at least some of you were surprised._   
>  _Anyway, originally I wasn’t going to blatantly state that Jack was a dark mage until he had to draw off of Astos to save Kane. All the flashbacks (which confirm that he’s a dark mage) came after that. But I can’t stress enough for you how much chapter 21 WAS NOT working until I ended it with Gollor talking to Jack, with the fact that he’s a dark mage being heavily implied. Suddenly I was able to start chapter 22 with the first flashback and it really, really seemed to work well there. It meant I had to rip up the original outline and tape it back together in a different order, but now I can’t imagine doing it the other way._   
>  _In other news, I don’t know how kosher it is to fangirl over your own story, but, guys, the fact that I have fit a baby, potted ochu into my plot just fills me with joy._


	30. Hurry!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Hurry! from Final Fantasy VII or from Final Fantasy X, another circumstance where two games both have a unique song by the same title.[Here is the original from VII](https://youtu.be/E5wqIafRKms) and [here](https://youtu.be/DQt3h7RmdNE) are [three](https://youtu.be/XtcaDmyGHLk) solid [remixes](https://youtu.be/9dLqsA_OR6o?t=1m7s) (Big Giant Circles is one of my favorite contributors to OCRemix, by the way). But for this chapter, [I’m kind of liking FFX's song better.](https://youtu.be/K22OHX9lqoI) Obviously, the people at OCRemix like it better too, as they have a whole remix album dedicated to it. Click [here](https://youtu.be/i3aO9H_RlTk?list=PLC7F4619B4506B76A) to hear it. And just for giggles, click [here](https://youtu.be/DOwRQpEGCbQ) for “Hurry! Hurry! From Final Fantasy V._

_ _

_The days run together,_ she’d told him. It took precious little time for Kane to see what she meant.

After his first night at the castle, sleeping in a bed across from Lena's in the room that had once been shared by Gollor's granddaughters, he woke late. The intensity of the sunlight streaming through the window told him it was mid morning. He wasn't accustomed to sleeping so long - he chalked it up to the presence of a comfortable bed after so many days without one - and allowed himself a languorous stretch before he rolled over and found Lena's bed empty.

“Did you at least eat something before you started?” he asked when he found her already focused on healing the prince.

“Yes, of course,” she said brightly, though she didn’t turn from her task.

He trusted that, preoccupied or not, she wouldn’t lie to him, so he left her to her work and saw to his own breakfast. Gollor took him to the kitchens, introducing him to the staff as “Lena’s brother, here for a visit.”

“I can see the resemblance,” said the cook, motioning to Kane’s hair, as red as Lena’s. “You tell us if she needs anything.”  

“They know what she is,” Gollor explained. “A human girl staying in the castle on my orders? It wasn’t hard for them to figure it out. They’ll not report her - the prince means too much to them.” They sat in the old man’s study as Kane ate his meal and Gollor told him of the rumors coming from the harbor of a man and boy appearing out of thin air the evening before. The mysterious individuals had boarded a ship that had sailed out almost immediately thereafter.

The news should have comforted him - Shipman was safely beyond Cotto’s reach now - but it only increased his worries. Lena was still in harm’s way, and it seemed her identity was not as secret as Kane would have liked. He went to the prince’s room, afraid to let her out of his sight, and sat in the room’s only chair, flipping through a fantastical, childish book of Leifenish legends that he found there.

“You needn’t stay if you’re bored,” Lena said with her back to him as she worked.

“I’m not bored,” he said, stopping on a page with an illustration of a flying ship. Now, that was interesting. The artist had drawn it with little sails coming out the sides. _What do those do?_ he wondered.

“That’s a lie,” she said, chuckling. “You need to work harder at controlling your emotions. You’re not as good at it as Thadius.”

“I’m not lying!” he said, annoyed at the accusation. “Idle” was not the same as “bored”. “Alright, it _is_ boring, but guard duty often is. Believe me, you don’t want it to be interesting.”

“So you’re on guard duty now?” she said lightly.

“Yes, and guard duty is boring. You can’t tell me this healing business is anything other than mind-numbingly dull!” he said, perhaps more bluntly than he should have, but she was riling him.

She stopped casting briefly, almost too briefly to warrant notice, but Kane saw it: a slump to her shoulders, a motion that could have been a sigh, and the white glow around her hands flickered just for an instant. He worried that he’d pushed too hard, but then she spoke quietly and he realized it wasn’t his words that had pained her. “Yes, but… I had someone to talk to at first. Aryon… he wasn’t entirely asleep. I could feel him. I talked, and he listened. I talked for hours. I think Aryon must know more about me by now than you do.”  

“But you don’t talk to him anymore?”

She shook her head. “He’s still in there somewhere. Just not anywhere I can reach.”

She resumed her healing, but her posture remained as it was, shoulders slumped, a little more defeated than she had been before he snapped at her. _You oaf,_ Kane thought, reminded again that Lena was not like Sarah at all, who would have snapped right back at him. “I’m sorry I spoke harshly,” he said. “I just don’t know what else I could be doing around here. I guess I’m not used to sitting still.”

“Talk to me,” she said.

“About what?”

“I don’t care,” she said wearily. “I just need to hear a voice other than my own.”

_Perhaps she does find it as dull as I do,_ he thought, wondering how she hadn’t gone mad these past several days. He talked about whatever crossed his mind: growing up in Cornelia, training with the guards. She asked him questions, and he answered, aware all the while that he did not have her full attention, but he didn’t mind.

When he grew hungry, he went to the kitchens and snagged a meal for both of them, and when Lena claimed she had reached that portion of her work that required more thorough concentration, he left her alone. He began a sort of patrol up and down the halls of the empty wing, identifying the entries and exits and defensible positions. Later, he went into town, to the tavern where his father’s acquaintance had said he would bring news of Cornelia and the replies to his father’s queries to White Hall. But no news awaited him there.

The second day, when he returned again from that same errand, he found Lena perched on the edge of the bed, speaking excitedly to the prince. “Kane!” she said, so pleased to see him. “Kane! Come and say something!”

He had hoped, momentarily, that she had conquered the curse at last, that the prince was awake and whole again, but he found Aryon just as he’d left him. “Um,” he said, finding the idea of speaking to a sleeping man awkward. “Hello, your majesty.”

Lena laughed, a bright sound against the otherwise quiet room. “He’s excited to meet you. I’ve told him so much about you.”

Kane could think of nothing to say, not a single word.

Lena didn’t appear to notice. She spoke to the prince, recounting the events of the past few days including his and Jack’s return and Jack’s flight with Shipman. She paused sometimes, head cocked as though she were listening, and when she resumed speaking, the tale sometimes turned along a different line of thought. It was as though the prince had asked her a question and she was answering it, and Kane  was reminded of a time not so long ago when he had wondered if soul readers could read thoughts. _She said she couldn’t,_ he thought, _but perhaps she comes close._

“Kane, tell Aryon how you and Jack saved Pravoka from the pirates. He loves adventure stories!”

He felt embarrassed at the request, but she smiled so sweetly at him, he couldn’t say no. “Oh... well…” he said, wondering how best to begin.

He started to enjoy himself as he recounted the tale. Lena interrupted him occasionally to interject her own comments, or to pass on a question from the prince, but for the most part, she focused on her magic, smiling as she worked. Kane finished that story, and another, and was halfway through a third when Lena made a pathetic, mournful little sound.

“Aryon?” she said, shaking the prince. “Aryon...”

“What is it?” Kane asked.

“He’s gone again,” Lena said, and then her lip quivered before she covered her face with both hands. In this, too, she differed from Sarah, for Sarah never cried without also raging against the tears, but Lena wept silently, giving no voice to the sadness that shook her so deeply.

At the sight of her weeping, Kane wanted to flee the room like the coward he suspected he truly was, but instead he sat beside her and let her cry on his shoulder. When she’d cried herself out, he shuffled her to the kitchens where the cook fussed over her and saw her fed; after the meal, he escorted her back. All of that took some time, so he wasn’t surprised that Lena didn’t finish her healing spells until well into the night, but he worried when, on the third day, it took her equally as long.

On the evening of the fourth day, as he sat in the chair reading a book Gollor had leant him, a history of elvish warfare much more interesting than the useless Leifenish legends, he became aware that Lena had stopped what she was doing and had sat back on the bed, staring down at the prince, her face drawn and pale.

“Finished?” he asked.

“No,” she said, so quietly that she might have been across the hall instead of right in front of him. “I… I can’t… I don’t have enough.” She barely responded when he led her away, her eyes wide and staring.

That night, he lay awake wondering where his father might be, wondering if the crown would help, wondering what he would do if Cornelia faced war with the elves. He knew that Lena, too, lay awake, for he could hear her unsteady breathing as she cried in that quiet way of hers. Kane thought that even when Hagen and Grifford had attacked him with their dark magic, he had never felt as powerless as he felt now.

* * *

Jack woke in his hammock below decks, the ship creaking around him. He could hear footsteps above him, the voices of the men on deck. Something had changed: the ship’s rocking had settled into a more gentle rhythm. _We’ve arrived,_ he thought. The captain had told him they would reach Elfheim sometime in the night. He had packed a bag the night before, nestling the flask of freshly brewed elixir among his spare shirts, ready to set out as soon as he woke, but a quick survey of the pirates currently sleeping nearby showed him only the night crew - all the others already risen for the day. He had slept later than he intended.

He moved gingerly, every inch of him sore from days of constant casting. He had never before questioned the physical toll of magic: soul and body were connected, and one without the other meant death. It had always seemed natural that working the aether inside his soul would leave his body worn and weary. Given what he’d learned from the witch, though, now he wondered. _Would a real black mage feel this way? Or does it affect me worse because of the impurities in the raw aether?_

The elixir had done nothing to help this particular problem, forcing him to wonder yet again if it actually worked. He hadn’t found any proper potion-making supplies aboard ship, had had to make do with whatever he could find in the galley, and had poured the result in a silver hip flask that had once contained Pravokan whiskey. He had tested it on himself, only a small sip, but couldn’t be sure it had made any difference; besides his exhaustion from working the aether, there was technically nothing wrong with him. He winced as he swung his feet to the floor and waited for a moment of dizziness to pass. When he looked to the corner where he’d left the bag with the elixir, it was gone.

“Thad,” he growled, making for the stairs.

The rising sun had only just cleared the horizon; it shone brightly down on Elfheim’s harbor, as lovely as it had been the first time they’d made port there. He could see the captain on the docks, speaking to an elven official of some kind, a dockmaster perhaps, while the crew milled about the deck doing whatever it was sailors did when they weren’t sailing. At a raucous laugh, Jack turned his attention to a cluster of pirates at the front of the ship, where Thad stood over the potted ochu, tossing it chunks of what must have been fish. It snatched the morsels out of the air with its remaining arms, to the delight of the men watching. Jack was pleased he hadn’t had to kill the creature to brew the elixir, having only needed to go through two of its tentacle-like vines before he succeeded; in fact, the little plant seemed none the worse for the experience, thriving in the open air and sunshine as it likely had not been able to in Matoya’s cave.

“Thad,” Jack said.

“Oh, hey, Jack! Watch this!” Thad said, tossing another tidbit high into the air. It landed quite tidily in the ochu’s open, waiting mouth. The men hooted in laughter, cheering.

“Thad,” Jack repeated, grabbing the boy’s shoulder for emphasis. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Thad said, smiling in a way that was almost cruel.

“Thad, I’m serious. I’ve no time for this.”

Thad rolled his eyes, handing the rest of the fish off to Felder. “Keep an eye on Oscar for me,” he said, walking off toward the captain’s cabin.

“You named it?” Jack said, catching up to him within three strides. “The ochu isn’t a pet!”

“It is now,” the boy said with a shrug, opening the cabin door and slipping inside. He stood beside the big table where the light from the windows at the rear of the ship played over untidy piles of maps and sea charts. “I want to go with you.”

“Thad, we’ve discussed this. It’s not safe for you there.”

“It’s not safe for Lena either! If you’re going to rescue her, I’m going too!”

“This isn’t a rescue,” Jack said, struggling to maintain his patience. “I’m merely delivering the elixir. We have no reason to believe she’s in any more danger now than she was when we left.”

“Then why can’t I come?”

“Because the elves think you’re a spy!”

At the sound of the door opening behind him, Jack turned to find Captain Gabbiani. “There’s a problem,” the gruff man said, jerking a thumb toward the docks. “Elf fella says the harbor’s flush with castle guards.”

“Do you see, Thad? This is exactly what I was talking about.”

The captain shook his head. “It’s not just the boy they’re after. They’re looking for you. Or someone of your description, at any rate.”

“Me?” Jack said. He glanced at Thad, who crossed his arms over his chest, smiling smugly.

“Poofed into the middle of the harbor town, didn’t you? In the company of a known spy, too - no offense, Shipman. Magic like that gets noticed.”

“Great,” Jack said witheringly. “That’s great.”

“What’s the big deal?” said Thad. “You can just Teleport us past them, can’t you?”

“In point of fact, I can’t.”

The boy frowned, cocking his head. “Why not? It’s not that far. You did it last time.”

“Because I’m tired, alright?” Jack nearly shouted. “I don’t have time right now to explain the intricacies of aether work to you, but I’ve spent the better part of a week casting and I’m done!”

“Fine,” Thad said, shrugging casually as if Jack hadn’t just unloaded on him. “So how are you planning to get past the guards?”

Jack sagged into a chair, hanging his head, fighting the urge to rub his temples. “I don’t know.”

“Gosh,” Thad said. He went to a cupboard on one side of the room. From it, he retrieved the bag that held the elixir and swung it over his shoulder. “If only you knew someone who was good at sneaking around.”

Jack groaned.

* * *

Kane must have slept at last. It seemed that he blinked and suddenly it was full daylight. Lena was already gone. He splashed his face with the water in the wash basin, then, in light of how tired he felt, he stuck half his head in the bowl. He came up sputtering, ran his hands through his soaking hair, then belted on his sword and set out for the kitchens.

He hadn’t gone far when the sound of raised voices brought him up short.

“Please!” he heard Gollor say. “They’re not spies! They’re here to help us!”

“It doesn’t matter,” someone said in reply. “The king has ordered us to bring them in. Step aside, Gollor.”

_Guards?_ Kane thought. _And coming this way._ He tried the knob on the nearest door, found it mercifully unlocked, and had just enough time to duck into the room before a half dozen guards turned the corner, striding purposefully toward the room where he’d been staying.

The old man stumbled along behind them. “Please! They mean us no harm!” he begged.

_Too late,_ Kane thought, peeking around the doorframe as they passed. _We stayed too long._ His heart pounded as he slipped into the hall and hurried toward Aryon’s room, making for the narrower hallways of the servant’s passages rather than the wide main corridors the guards were most likely to take.

He worried they would be there already, but the royal wing appeared just as abandoned as ever. He sprinted toward Aryon’s room, bolting inside. “Lena!” he called. “Lena, we have to go! Now!” but then his eyes took in the sight in front of him.

Lena knelt on the bed, bent over the prince as she healed him, but the prince was not the motionless sleeper he had been. He thrashed violently, bucking beneath the small white mage as she pressed her glowing hands against him. “I can’t leave him like this! He’ll die!” she said desperately.

“Please, Lena, the guards are coming. It’s too late.” He grabbed her shoulder, but she twisted out of his grip, moving across the bed and away from him.

“Not yet!” she snapped.

“Woman, I will carry you out of here if I have to!” he said, stepping around the bed to do just that, knowing she couldn’t fight back. As he reached for her, a white flash filled his vision, knocking him back, as a Protect spell coalesced around her. “Lena! Don’t do this!” he cried, reaching for her again, but he couldn’t touch her.

She ignored him, pouring her attention into Aryon as if nothing else mattered.    

* * *

Jack tried to appear casual as they walked through Elfheim. At this time of morning, the city bustled with elves going about their daily affairs. Some looked askance at the pair of humans, but most ignored them, too busy with their own business to care. It was nothing like it had been when he walked the streets with Lena, her white mage attire drawing every eye. Yet, still, Jack felt inordinately exposed.

“Come on,” Thad said, oblivious to Jack’s discomfort. “The guards don’t usually patrol this street until first chime. We can cut left across the market to the castle wall. You can Teleport us inside from there, right? It’s hardly any distance.”

“Yes,” Jack said, his voice creaking with tension.

To Thad’s credit, or perhaps discredit, he really was good at sneaking around. He’d led them swiftly and stealthily through the harbor town, and once on the long road to the city itself, they had only had to skirt around one contingent of guards. Thad had grudgingly admitted he didn’t know the first thing about sneaking through a forest, so they’d cautiously taken a wide detour; they had encountered no other guards since then, due in part to Thad’s knowledge of their patrol patterns through the city.

Jack grew more nervous as they drew closer to the castle wall. He could see the wide front gate farther down the street, but Thad ignored it. “This is the spot,” he said, ducking into a clear space down an alley between two shop buildings, too far from the street to accommodate a market stall.

Jack stepped after him, stopping at the alley mouth when something caught his eye, for at the gate, a thin man stood arguing heatedly with the guards. His hair was ragged, and his clothes were filthy, but his shirt, under the grime, was clearly a disturbing shade of yellow. Jack waited until the guards pushed the man back into the street before he called, “Refial!”

The pirate started in surprise, hurrying over to him. “Jack! You’re alive!”

“Yes,” Jack said. He took in Refial’s appearance: not only was his once-fine shirt stained beyond hope of repair, his face was covered in several small scratches as if he’d walked into a tree. He bore a sizable lump on his forehead just at the hairline, and there was blood in his greasy hair. “And from the looks of things, I’ve had a better time of it than you. Where have you been?”

“I got lost! I’ve been wandering the groves for days!”

“Alone?” Jack said. “What happened to Redden and Orin?”

“I could as well ask you the same thing! They went off looking for you and Kane!”

“They went back to the Keep?”

Refial nodded.

_There were more coming,_ Jack thought. _Dark mages, the Brotherhood… What if we’ve lost them?_

“Jack, what’s wrong?” Thad said.

“Useless,” he said. “We traveled all that way, were gone for so long...”  

“But we have the elixir now!” Thad pointed out.

“Do you think those guards would let us through if we show them the crown?” Refial said.

“What?” Jack asked, whipping his head up so fast that his neck twinged. “ _You_ have it?”

“Of course!” said the pirate. “Why did you think they sent me back on my own? I tried to explain it to Gollor’s girl over there, but she said she couldn’t let me in.”

“Segeth is guarding the gate?” Thad asked, peeking around the corner at it.

Refial sighed in exasperation. “I just said as much!”

Before Jack could stop him, the boy ran past, toward the gate, directly toward the shorter of the two female guards, though she still towered over Thad, was taller even than Refial. “Segeth!” he cried.

At the sight of the boy, the other guard tensed, whether to run inside or to grab him, Jack wasn’t sure, but Segeth held her hand up, motioning her companion to hold. “Thadius! What are you doing here! It’s not safe for you!”  

“But we have the cure for the prince!”

“We have orders to take you before the king,” the other guard said, tension heavy in her voice.

“We also have orders to keep everyone out for the next hour, Rill. We need only obey the one!”

“Segeth!” Rill hissed, seeming scandalized.

“You don’t believe he’s a spy any more than I do!” Segeth said. She knelt before the boy. “We don’t want to capture you, Thadius, but we’ll have to if you stay here.”

“If we give you the cure, can you get it to Lena?” Jack said.

Segeth looked up at him, eyes wide. “I… can’t…” she said slowly. On the other side of the gate, Rill had pinched her eyes shut in a pained expression.

Thad looked rapidly between the two of them. “Why not?”

“Is Lena alright?” Jack said.

Segeth stood, face set. She was sweating, but Jack didn’t believe for an instant that it was because of the heat. The guardswoman looked him very deliberately in the eye as she said, “I cannot say.”

He heard Lena’s voice in his memory: _She wanted to tell us, I could feel it._

“Can’t, or won’t?” he asked.

She nodded, even as she repeated her negative answer. “I cannot say.”

“Alright,” he said, considering his options. He was tired. He was sore. His stomach turned at the thought of casting one more spell. _So look for a bit of aether that’s already shaped like the spell you want and cast it from there,_ he thought. He called up his aether sight, and though the guards flinched as a corona flared in his eyes, neither moved against him. At a wave of his hand, the aether swirled around them in an approximation of Sleep.

“What are you doing?” Refial gasped as the two women sank to the ground.

“Possibly something I’ll regret later. Come on.” He strode through the now-unguarded gate, already looking for the aether he needed to cast the spell again.

* * *

The curse writhed beneath her spells like a thorned snake, coiling and striking and stinging no matter where she applied her will. She ripped and tore at it, a gardener pulling a malevolent weed, but the roots ran so deeply she couldn’t cut them off at the source.

She could hear Kane behind her, knew he was begging her to leave with him, but she couldn’t make out his words over the roar of her power in her mind. She could feel his fear, his desperation, just as she could feel Aryon’s, but they paled in comparison to her own despair.

She _had_ to save him. She’d worked too hard, for too long, to lose him now. She _knew_ him. For all that she’d never once heard his voice, he had heard hers when it seemed that all the world had stopped listening. Aryon had listened as she laid out her hopes and dreams and fears and she had _felt_ his, even if she could not yet put words to them. She wouldn’t let him go.

She flailed against the curse, and it burned her wherever her power touched it. She roared in defiance and held tight to it anyway. She heard Kane call for her as she screamed, felt him push against her Protect spell again as he tried to reach her. The curse ducked out of her grip, fleeing deeply into the prince’s soul.

_No,_ she declared. _No, you can’t have this one._ She wrapped her power around Aryon’s soul just as she might take a kitten into her arms, and she knew she wept at how small and frail his aura’s light was, but her body, her weeping, seemed far away, removed from this place where her power resided.

The curse screamed as her power enclosed them both, prince and curse together. It screamed as a cornered animal might scream, shrinking back from her, cowering in Aryon’s shadow, not dead or defeated but beaten back for now.

“Aryon,” she said, a croak of a whisper, back in her own self now as she knelt over the prince, cradling his face in her still-glowing hands.

He slept still, but he was there. She could feel him, she could feel him as clearly as if he were speaking to her, and what he said was _“Leave me.”_

“No,” she told him. “No.”

She could feel him, a mixture of hope and despair and regret, of gratitude and resignation that she heard as a voice in her ear whispering, _“It’s too late for me.”_

Kane seized her arm, pulling against her. Her Protect had faded. She realized she hadn’t the power to cast it again. “I’m sorry,” she said, bending close to Aryon, kissing his forehead. “I’m so sorry.” She wept as Kane hauled her away.

* * *

“This way,” Kane said, pulling Lena along as he ran for the rear stairs. He heard shouting behind him, the sounds of pursuit. A quick glance back showed a cluster of five guards, striding toward them at a determined pace, not quite running, almost as if these guards had no desire to catch their quarry. _It’s because they don’t,_ Kane realized as they headed downstairs. _No matter what the king’s ordered, they know she’s only a white mage._ Had the guards arrived that minute, or had they been waiting for Lena to emerge, waiting until she finished healing the prince?

The rear stairs let out near the servants’ quarters, on a series of hallways that spiraled through the castle’s ground floor. A left here would take them back to Gollor’s rooms, where Kane knew the guards might still be waiting for them. Right would take them to the kitchens, to the exit he was most familiar with, but he heard shouting that way. Forward seemed the only option left to them.

“No!” Lena said, as Kane dragged her after him. “They’re coming! I can feel them.”

He backtracked, taking the left-hand turn just as the first guards from the kitchen area reached their hallway. He ran, Lena with him, speeding down the passage that would eventually take them past the dead-end corridor that contained Gollor’s rooms, and as they ran, another guard stepped into view ahead of them. Kane turned back, but those in pursuit blocked his way.

He snarled, drawing his sword, wondering how he would fight them from two directions at once. _I’ll have to charge the lone one, hope I can cut him down before the others reach us,_ he thought, but he hesitated when he felt Lena’s gentle hand on his sword arm.

Her eyes were so green in her pale, serious face. “Don’t,” she said.

“I can’t get you out of here without a fight.”

Lena shook her head. “Please don’t kill for me.”

“I swore I’d keep you safe,” he said, knowing even as he said it that he had lost his chance. Ahead of him, more guards stepped into view, surrounding the one he had hoped to overpower.

The guards closed in from both sides.

* * *

“It’s that door!” Thad said.

Jack nodded. _Of course it’s the door with the guard on it,_ he thought, flicking a bit of Sleep-shaped aether toward the hapless man just as he noticed their approach.

Refial squeaked as the elven guard pitched forward, his pike clattering loudly against the floor. “That was the eighteenth one!”

“More, if you count those servants he did,” Thad said, stepping over the guard to reach the door.

“Yes, I think I’m getting the hang of this,” Jack said sarcastically.

Thad tried the knob, but it seemed to be locked. “One moment,” he said, digging in his pockets, coming up with feathers and string before he settled upon what looked like a sturdy playing card that he slid into the space between the frame and the door. It opened for him after only a moment’s fiddling.

“You’ve a real talent for that,” said Refial.

“Thanks,” said the boy.

“I’m not sure I meant it as a compliment,” the pirate muttered.

Jack ignored them, pulling the elixir from his bag. So much was riding on this concoction. He didn’t know if he had brewed it properly, had simply followed a basic potion recipe and hoped for the best. He could still smell traces of whiskey as he unscrewed the lid.

_Gods, please,_ he thought, pulling the prince’s head up, forcing the flask between his lips, and pouring slowly. “Please work,” he begged aloud.

His heart sank as he watched a bit of the precious brew dribble down Aryon’s chin to his neck, but then the prince’s throat moved as he swallowed.

* * *

Kane fought against a wave of pain that made him physically ill. Hands bound tightly in front of him, he could hear his shoulder grinding with every step he took. Dislocated, he suspected, when the elven guards had tackled him to the floor.

“Please, let me heal him,” Lena said from a few steps ahead, surrounded by guards, with her hands tied as if she were as big a threat as he was. Compared to her elven captors, she was so, so small.

The guards looked between her and Kane with pity in their eyes, just following orders, no matter how it displeased them to do so. Kane understood, but he didn’t have to like it. “It’s fine, Lena,” he said.

“It’s not fine! I can feel it! Please,” she said, this last bit directed at the guards.

The guards said nothing as they led the pair of them out of the sparse hallways of the servants’ quarters into a part of the castle much more fine. The corridors were wider here, the carpets and wall-hangings in pristine condition. There were more guards as well, some falling into step beside them, others lining up to watch them pass by.

They came to a wide doorway flanked by carved wooden pillars but with no door. Kane knew instinctively that it was the entrance to the throne room, though it was nothing like Cornelia’s. Though the room was just as large as he expected, it was darker - it lacked the Cornelian throne room’s large windows, the colorful ensembles of the ever-present courtiers. There seemed to be no elven courtiers at all, only a crowd of castle guards, with here and there a liveried servant cowering among them.

Their guards marched them before a raised platform that held a throne occupied by a haggard man who might have resembled Aryon in better days. He frowned as he squinted down at Lena from the throne.

“She is the one I told you about, your majesty,” a stocky elf beside him said. With his thinning hair and black mage robes, Kane knew him from Gollor’s description: Cotto.

“You!” the king said. “The servant? You lied to me?”

“No, your majesty,” Lena said, her voice small and steady. “All white mages are servants. I serve life, until life’s appointed end.”

Cotto sneered. “She is the spy, sire. She serves Cornelia.”

“She’s no spy!” Kane snapped.

“Silence!” the king commanded. To Lena, he said, “You came from White Hall?”

Lena looked down at her feet. “Yes, sire.”

“And do you deny that you’ve been reporting to White Hall about elvish matters of state?”

“I don’t know anything about that, sire,” Lena said.

The king glared, grabbing a paper out of Cotto’s hands and throwing it down to them. It floated lazily to their feet. Kane could clearly make out his father’s handwriting, his request for aid from White Hall, apparently intercepted by Cotto before it had ever been sent.

“It mentions you,” the king snarled. “It specifically mentions a white mage infiltrating my palace. Do you still claim ignorance?”

_Lie,_ Kane thought. _Just lie. If ever there was a time to break the Oath, this is it._

“No, sire.” Lena’s whisper carried through the hush of the massive throne room as clearly as a shout, and Kane’s heart broke.

“Kill her,” the king said, so coldly and quietly that Kane wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. No one moved. No one breathed. “Kill her!” he repeated, shouting it this time, and Kane could see the madness in his eyes.

“No!” Kane said, trying to move in front of Lena, but the guard nearest him grabbed his injured shoulder and squeezed until Kane saw stars. Even as the pain drove him to his knees, he struggled to put himself between Lena and their captors.

Still, the guards didn’t move. They hesitated, hands to their sword hilts, obviously unwilling to draw. The guard who held Kane was shaking.

“None of you move,” said a uniformed man near the throne. “She’s mine.” He was older, an officer of some kind, wearing a sword that looked more ceremonial than functional. The gold and silver filigree of the hilt glinted as he drew the blade, a whisper of steel against the quiet tension. The man approached the guards that ringed Lena in, touching one lightly on the arm to get him to step aside.

_Sparing his subordinates,_ Kane thought. But the officer’s face was pale - Kane knew the man didn’t want to do this. “Don’t! Please!” he yelled, fighting against the guard who held him.

The officer stepped forward, raising his sword.

“I forgive you,” Lena said, her voice as quiet as a summer breeze. Her eyes never rose from the floor. “I forgive you.”

The old guard hesitated, sword held high. He need only strike and it would all be over.

“Kill her!” the king shouted. “I order you to kill her!”

The sword wavered for an instant, an instant Kane was sure heralded the beginning of the end, but the fatal stroke never came.

Instead a voice yelled, “Stop!”

It echoed through the throne room, hitting the assembled guards like a force of nature, like a blast of cold air. Every eye in the room turned to the entryway, where a figure stood supported by two others: Prince Aryon, held between Jack and Refial. Kane could see Shipman hovering behind them, eyes wide with worry. In one hand, Aryon clutched Asura’s crown so tightly that his knuckles were white.

_Whoever holds the crown is king,_ Kane remembered. _All elves are bound by blood to obey their king._

“Stand down,” Aryon said, his voice clear and forceful regardless of how weak he appeared.

The guard who held Kane released him. Kane immediately pushed to his feet, shoving Lena behind him, but needlessly - the officer who stood over her stepped back, not only lowering his sword but dropping it altogether as though it burned him.

“Aryon?” the king said, standing, gazing across the room at his son in wonder and confusion.

“No, your majesty!” Cotto said, desperately. “He must be an imposter!”

“Cotto Arastel,” Aryon said coldly. “I charge you with high treason, aiding in a conspiracy to usurp the throne. Guards, seize him.”

The guards surged toward the raised platform, but they stopped when Cotto leaped to the mad king’s side, pulling a curved knife from beneath his black robes. The king was in no condition to fight him off, still confused at the sudden appearance of his beloved son. “Move and he dies!” Cotto shouted. “I mean it!”

There was a sound from the back of the room that Kane could only describe as a squeak, a sound he knew from experience came from none other than Refial. The knife fell from Cotto’s hand seconds before both Cotto and the king collapsed in an untidy pile beside the throne.

“I’m sorry!” Kane heard Refial say. “I panicked! It’s a reflex!”

Kane turned just as Lena ran for the door, toward Jack, toward Aryon, but it was Aryon who opened his arms to her, who all but collapsed against her as he caught her up and held her. The two of them sank to the floor, clinging to each other, the gems of the crown Aryon held shimmering red against Lena’s hair.

She wouldn’t have seen Jack turn and walk away, Kane thought, not while she cried tears of joy against Aryon’s shoulder. This time, she did not cry quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _10/7/16: Another glimpse into the contents of Thad’s pockets. Was that a Triple Triad card? The world may never know._   
>  _So, I hate to do this to you guys, but there’s going to be another hiatus after chapter 32. I just can’t keep up with the “1 chapter per week” goal I set for myself when I started this thing and need time to get ahead. I’m really sorry about it. This is the first long-fiction story I’ve ever done; I didn’t know when I started how hard it would be to maintain the pace._   
>  _Chapter 31 next week will take us through the end of part two, and 32 is sort of an interlude between parts two and three. It’s technically the first chapter of part three, but it’s a good place to take a break, sort of before the action in Melmond picks up, not too cliff-hanger-ish. I just don’t want to reach a situation where I leave you guys hanging in the middle of an action sequence or something._   
>  _I’ll have more details regarding hiatus length and dates when I post 32 (depending on how much I get done between now and then). Meanwhile, I hope you stick with me._


	31. Broken Spell, Healed Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Broken Spell, Healed Hearts from Final Fantasy IX. Click[here](https://youtu.be/FgsUuyD3K4o) for the original, [here](https://youtu.be/gvK0TTIPnWo) for a symphonic remaster, or [here](https://youtu.be/DQGd16H6vcw) for one off of OC Remix’s FFIX tribute album, Worlds Apart, which you can learn more about [here](http://ocremix.org/album/66/final-fantasy-ix-worlds-apart). _

High in the ramparts, Kane leaned against the parapet and looked out at Elfheim as the sun set. It was too early in the evening to be standing idly outside, the air still charged with the day’s heat, but he wanted to be alone. The castle was alive again as those servants and courtiers who had fled the king’s madness came flooding back. Many of the servants wore the green and gold livery of the castle staff, but Kane had seen others dressed in the colors of high elvish houses, working in the castle on temporary loan from the lords of Elfheim or in service to one of the courtiers. Most of them regarded him much as they would a bug in a box, uncertain of what to think of these “Warriors of Light” who had purportedly saved their kingdom. 

He watched the elves move through the streets below, going about their business just as they always had. He wondered whether it made any difference to the day-to-day lives of the common people if they were ruled by a mad king or a kindly prince. Aryon was proving surprisingly capable for a man who had slept the past five years away. Trapped in his own mind, he had had nothing but time to think, and concern for Elfheim had been foremost in his thoughts. Kane respected that. At least Aryon was in a position to do something about his kingdom. 

A movement from the corner of his eye alerted him to a person heading toward him along the castle’s walls, and he turned to find his father approaching. He and Orin had turned up only a day after the events in the throne room, hauling a heavy litter full of elvish artifacts that they claimed to have recovered from the Western Keep. The two of them had been often in Aryon’s company since then, guiding him as he worked to restore his kingdom.  

“Thought I’d find you here,” Redden said when he’d closed the distance between them. 

“Just keeping out of the way,” Kane said. 

“You’re a hero,” his father said, shrugging. “You’re hardly in the way.”

“Some hero I turned out to be. I didn’t do anything.” He stood up straight, and the sweat dripping down his back itched beneath the borrowed finery he wore. At every official function these last few days—and there had been many: dinners, appointments, sessions of court—the Warriors of Light had been praised for their part in breaking the curse but Kane had found his own role in the events lacking. He recounted his failures, tallying them up on his fingers. “I wasn’t the one who defeated Astos, I didn’t retrieve the crown, I couldn’t keep Lena safe-”

Redden grabbed his hand, stopping his counting, cutting him off. “You helped. You were there. No lone soldier wins a war, son. You’re a Warrior of Light, one of four: you have to work together. The prophecy is clear as day on that point. Even if all you do is support the rest of them, it’s enough.”

“The prophecy,” Kane scoffed. He looked down at the sword he wore on his belt, the one handed down to him by his father, the one with the mysterious jewel in the pommel that had turned out to be a relic of legend. “Is that what you’re going to say in your letter to King Cascius? That the Warriors of Light saved Elfheim because of the prophecy?”

Redden sighed. “No,” he said as he turned toward the parapet himself and leaned his elbows against it, folding his hands in front of him. “He needs to know there were agents of the Brotherhood here, operating out of the Western Keep, but I’m afraid I can’t tell him the rest. Cornelia can’t know how close they were to war.”

Kane blinked in disbelief. It was one thing to feel as though  _ he _ hadn’t done anything noteworthy, but his friends had: Lena had kept the elven prince alive long after he should have died, and Jack had brewed the elixir that saved his life. The two of them had averted a war, and no one in Cornelia would know? “What good is that?”

“The war’s stopped, whether Cornelia knows it or not.”

“But they  _ need  _ to know! The mage council didn’t want to send us out to begin with! You think I don’t know, but people talk. A black mage, a thief, a low-ranking guard? No one believed for a minute that we were any kind of prophesied heroes. Don’t they need to know we’ve done something worthwhile?”

His father sighed, long and deep. “I don’t know what the prophecy means, son. I don’t know what it will require of you, but this wasn’t it. You’re supposed to stop earthquakes, end the Rot, calm the seas - magic I can’t even fathom. This was a… an interlude, nothing more. You, the four of you, did some good here, but it isn’t enough.” Without taking his eyes from the city below, Redden reached out to clap a hand on Kane’s shoulder, squeezing it tenderly, as if the pressure could take the sting out of his words. “It isn’t enough, son.”

Kane stared at his father, but when Redden said nothing else, Kane leaned against the parapet once more beside him. The two of them looked out on the forested city below, as different from home as it could be, but yet so alike. The streets echoed with the cries of merchants hawking their wares, friends exclaiming greetings to one another, a mother calling her children in for dinner. They all seemed to know what they were about, how they fit into things, and Kane wondered what it would be like to be one of them, just as he often wondered what it must be like to be one of the nobles. He was neither, not a commoner, not a lord; he was a Warrior of Light, and he had no idea what that meant.

* * *

“So that’s it then?” Jack said, looking over the table in Gollor’s study where they had spread the potions and spell components they had been unable to identify. Elleth, who apparently had a knack for such things, had said she would be along later to have a look at them. “The whole of Astos’s treasure to pick over and this was all the Brotherhood saw fit to take?” He picked up a jar containing a single, fluffy red feather, eyeing it critically, but set it down again, seeing no immediate use for it. 

Gollor shrugged, standing over another table that had been brought in to hold the numerous non-magical artifacts they were packing away. The spell books, ten in all, had already been secured in Aryon’s private library. “I’m sure the men Aryon sent will retrieve anything of historical value to the kingdom,” he said as he carefully wrapped a pair of steel gauntlets in a cloth before placing them in a trunk at his feet. “I imagine I’ll be tasked with cataloging those things as well. If you’re still here when they return-”

“No,” Jack said. “I told you, I need to leave.” He hadn’t cast anything in days, and though his reserves were full again, he no longer felt uncomfortably stuffed with aether.  It was as if his soul had stretched. But there was something else now: a hollow that he had never noticed before, larger now that his reserves had grown. He knew instinctively that this was his dark magic. He pictured it as a hulking beast; it had been sleeping, but he’d woken it now and it was hungry. 

This was the place the ice came from, and he knew it could only be filled by the aether he might draw from someone else. It was fine when he was alone with Gollor, simple enough to convince himself not to draw from the old man he’d befriended, but the castle was full of other people now, more arriving every day, bright spots of aether that seemed almost to reach out to him. He could see them even without his aether sight now, a constant reminder that he was no longer who he had been.

“My offer still stands. We could study this thing together if you stay. You needn’t struggle with it alone.”

“No,” Jack said. “I’ll be alright. Besides, I know a scholar in Melmond who might be able to help me with that book. I just… I need time.”

When he had completed his work with Gollor, when the artifacts were carefully boxed up and the boxes hauled away by a passel of servants, Gollor tried once more to talk Jack out of going, but Jack remained firm in his resolve, so they said their goodbyes.

He headed toward the door near the kitchens, as it was closest, but as he turned the corner that brought him in sight of the servants’ dining hall, he saw Kane and Redden ahead of him, arguing even as a passing maid politely averted her eyes and pretended nothing was happening. The two were never more alike than when they argued, Jack thought. Kane’s mannerisms echoed his father’s, the way they both motioned wildly with their hands as they spoke. Jack couldn’t hear their words; they had not reached the point of yelling yet, but if Jack knew Kane, judging by his expression the yelling could not be far off.

Redden must have seen it too, for at a sharp word and a sharper gesture the older man ended the conversation and stalked away. Kane looked skyward, obviously muttering under his breath, almost as if he was praying to Bahamut for patience, but Jack suspected if anything was being said about the dragon god, it was likely sacrilegious. The guardsman looked over and rolled his eyes as Jack approached. “How much of that did you hear?” 

“I was too far away to make it out,” Jack said. “What’s gotten between you this time?”

Kane sighed. “I’d rather not get into this right now.”

Jack shrugged, meaning to show that he didn’t mind one way or the other, but the motion only made more obvious the pack he carried. 

Kane looked at it and his eyes widened. “You’re leaving?”

Jack nodded. “Back to the ship.”

Kane squinted suspiciously at him. “Why?”

“It’s getting too crowded here,” he said. The cook’s apprentice, an elven boy taller than a human his age would have been, skirted around them on some errand, his dusky red aura drawing Jack’s attention yet again to the hollow he was trying to ignore. 

“Don’t give me that. You’ve been closeted with Gollor for days, studying those dusty old things father brought in. It’s not as if you’re surrounded by admirers: half the elves in this castle don’t even know you exist. What is it, really?”

Kane peered at him so intently that Jack looked away. He had stared down any number of bullies in his life, but found it much more difficult to meet his friend’s gaze. “I’ve done all I can here, that’s all.” 

“Bollocks,” Kane snapped. “Have you talked to Lena?”

“It’s not-” he began lamely, but Kane cut him off.

“Yes or no. Have you talked to her?”

“No,” he admitted. “Not since I got back.” One stilted, painful conversation where he couldn’t get his tongue to cooperate and where the ice had nearly overwhelmed him just from being near her. He wondered if she could feel his struggle, if her soul sight would show her the hollow spot inside of him and she would know him for what he was. It had almost been a relief when Aryon came looking for her, giving him an excuse to flee. A chill ran up his spine at the memory and he pulled his coat closer.

“Jack…” Kane sighed again, a frustrated sigh, like a kettle letting off steam. “You  _ need  _ to talk to her.” He turned, as if he would walk away, but instead he only paced a few steps, raking a hand through his hair, seeming unnaturally shy all of a sudden. “She missed you, alright?”

“What?”

“She missed you,” Kane repeated sharply. “That was what father and I were arguing about.”

“I don’t follow,” Jack said, truly out of his depth.

“Because she’s a soul reader, remember? It’s clear Aryon’s fallen for her. If she thinks she loves him back, father’s worried that we’ll never get her to leave.”

Aryon  _ was  _ in love with her: Jack had known it the moment the prince woke up, when his first word, even as he sputtered and choked on the elixir, had been her name. And then she had run to him, to Aryon, as if Jack hadn’t existed. He didn’t believe what Redden had told him. He didn’t! He knew she had feelings of her own.  _ But what if she does love him? _

Kane grabbed Jack’s shoulder. He’d been so caught up in worry that he hadn’t even noticed the guardsman had stopped pacing and stood in front of him once more. “I told him he was wrong. Jack, I’ve changed my mind about her. She isn’t just reflecting people’s emotions back at them. Maybe she does love the prince, I don’t know. But she missed you. I saw it.” He stopped, staring at the air between them, and Jack realized Kane could see his own breath fogging in front of him. 

_ Stupid, _ Jack thought, trying too late to squash down the riot of confusion and worry and hope that raced through him like a winter wind. “I have to go,” he said, pushing away.

Kane still gripped his shoulder and wouldn’t release him even as the temperature in the hallway plummeted. “You can’t control it, can you?” the guardsman said quietly.

Jack closed his eyes, but the corona was already there, proving Kane right. Even with his eyes closed, Jack could see the guardsman’s yellow aura, and he knew he need only draw a fraction of it to fill that hollow place inside him and bury the ice there for a time. The urge to do so frightened him, and the fear only made it worse. 

“Please, I have to go,” he repeated. 

Kane released him, and Jack bumped him hard as he brushed past, eyes squeezed shut, as he ran blindly for the door.  

* * *

It was days before Lena put on the white hooded robe again, days in which the summer reached its stride and the thought of adding another layer of clothing seemed ludicrous. She thought with wonder about how pleased Jack had been when she returned his coat shortly after his return. Lena was sure she’d imagined it, but he had seemed to be shivering. He’d donned the heavy garment immediately, and she hadn’t seen him without it since. The heat was hardly unbearable, but Lena was uncomfortably aware of how much she was sweating as she walked through the royal wing, encountering servants who eyed her curiously and bowed as she passed. 

Even the guards regarded her with a mixture of awe and fear, though those posted on the door to Aryon’s study let her enter without comment. A few industrious maids had cleaned it with ruthless determination, but the room still smelled of dust and five years’ disuse. Considering how much time Aryon spent in there though, Lena suspected the scent would right itself soon enough. He sat at a large desk made of a dark wood, its top spread thickly with papers. When he saw her, he stood, smiling broadly, while across from him Lord Orin rose as well, setting aside a tea cup as he did so. 

“Excuse me,” the old monk said. “I have things I must attend to.” He bowed deeply to Aryon and ever so slightly to her, grinning as he left.  

“Lena!” Aryon said warmly when they were alone. 

She smiled, but it faltered when she felt his reaction to it, her heart fluttering in sympathy with his. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

He waved a dismissive hand at that. “Orin was just advising me on how to smooth over relations with the lords of Elfheim who haven’t returned to the city yet.”

Lena nodded, but squinted critically at the prince. Though he looked stronger all the time, today he had dark circles around his eyes. “Did you sleep last night?”

Aryon blushed. “A little. I know I need to, but I can’t seem to relax into it. I dream I’m still cursed and wake in a panic.” He shuddered at the unpleasant memory, coming around the desk to meet her, reaching for her hand casually, leading her to a padded seat beneath a high window so that they could sit together. “I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

“You summoned me,” she pointed out, sliding her feet from her sandals as she sat down.

“Yes, but I assumed you would come later. I know you’ve been seeing to my father.”

She shrugged, remembering the king’s aura as she’d seen it through her soul sight that morning: glowing like pale green starlight while the dark patches where the curse still held were smaller than they had been the day before, drying up like puddles after a rain. From the king’s mind she had sensed only the steady hum of his dreams. “Not as much these past two days,” she said. “We’ve nearly come to the bottom of the curse, I think. Even without my help, it would take the devouts no more than a week.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Aryon said, his eyes drifting to the courtyard outside, but Lena felt conflicting emotions swirling around him, happiness and resentment in equal measure. 

She squeezed his hand gently, bringing his gaze back to her. “You seem upset.”

“I missed so much,” he said, quietly. “It seems unfair that my father should escape the curse so easily.”

“Not so easily. He wasn’t himself while he was awake; he’ll have to live with what he did,” Lena said. Her thoughts flitted to Jack. She’d managed only one halting conversation with her shy friend, busy as they both were. He had seemed as awkward and quiet as he had been in Cornelia; the ease that had developed between them over the course of their journey together was lost. It was as Kane had said: Jack had done things he was ashamed of. Lena had felt his guilt, fierce and abiding, though she rarely felt anything from him. For someone who kept his emotions on such a tight leash to feel something that strongly… 

She felt Aryon’s concern, noticed him watching her, and reluctantly pulled her thoughts back to their discussion of the king. “Your father may continue to sleep even after the curse is finished,” she said. “He’s been so long without it, I don’t know how his body will respond now that he’s finally resting. You may have to take steps to wake him.”

Aryon shook his head. “He shall sleep as long as he needs. It will give the people time to forget.” He sighed, taking both of her hands in his. “But I didn’t send for you to talk about my father. Actually, I needed your advice on something else.”

“Oh?” she said, curious at his serious tone.

“I hear that your friend Refial has stated an intention to give up his life of piracy.” 

“Yes, he’s said.” Lena believed it, too. Whatever Refial had experienced while he was lost and alone in the groves had certainly changed him. He claimed to be done with adventuring for good. 

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that the people think very highly of him, since he was the one who saved us from my father’s madness.” He raised one hand to stop her impending protest. “You and I both know it wasn’t him. He knows it too. But you must admit it certainly looked that way from where the witnesses were standing.”

He looked at her intently, awaiting her response. She could only nod.

He went on, “I intend to invite Refial to stay, to join Gollor as one of my advisors.”

“Refial?” she said before she could stop herself. 

“It was Gollor’s idea. It’s elven tradition for royal advisors to be mages, so he’s technically qualified.”

“But I’m not sure how much he knows about running a kingdom,” Lena said.

Aryon shook his head. “I want… I  _ need  _ someone, an advisor, who doesn’t  _ have  _ to obey my every command. I wanted your opinion of the man.”

He watched her, waiting for her answer, and she found she had to look away from that unwavering gaze. His eyes were so like Jack’s. Not in their color - they were not the same intense blue as the mage’s - but in that the prince’s eyes were the exact same shade of green as his aura, like she was looking into his soul every time he looked at her. “I read his soul before he joined us in Pravoka,” she said, staring out the window. “He’s had a hard life, but he’s-”

Aryon stopped her with a single finger beneath her chin, lifting her head so that their eyes met before he grasped her hands again. “I didn’t ask you as a soul reader. I’m asking you as a friend. His friend, and mine.”

“I… I think…” she stuttered. “I think life in a castle would suit him.” That drew a small laugh from Aryon, which flustered her. “Oh, I’m not the best person to ask. Jack knows him better than I do.”

“Jack is gone.”

“What?”

Aryon nodded. “He left yesterday, returned to your ship.”

“But I thought he was helping Gollor with the cataloging?”

“He was. They finished.”

She hadn’t even noticed. Now that she thought about it, he hadn’t been at dinner the night before. She hadn’t wondered about it then - he often ate in private - but she hadn’t seen him in the halls either. How had she not noticed? It wasn’t as if they were parted forever - he’d only gone to the ship after all; she would have to join him there eventually - but had it not occurred to him to tell her he was leaving? 

Her own disappointment gave way to Aryon’s; she realized she had drawn her hands away from his, already planning her own departure. When her eyes met his again, his face was solemn. She took a deep breath, “Aryon...”

“You could stay,” he said. “You told me once that you didn’t want to go back to Cornelia. I would make you the same offer I make Refial.”

“I can’t,” she said. “The prophecy…” She trailed off, not knowing how to express how torn she felt, not knowing why she should feel torn at all. 

He only nodded, and though his disappointment remained, it didn’t increase at her answer. “I knew what you would say. But I had to try.” He stood abruptly and held a hand out for her once again. “Come with me. I have something for you.”

She slipped her feet back into her shoes and let him pull her up. As the two of them walked out into the hall, four of the guards at the door promptly fell in step behind them. They soon left the royal wing behind, coming to a set of stairs leading up. Aryon gripped her hand tighter as they ascended, his legs still unused to such a simple movement after years of stillness, but his strength held. Lena sensed how pleased he was when they reached the top; she considered praising his recovery but didn’t want to embarrass him by pointing out that she’d noticed. 

He led her down a bright, many-windowed hallway, stopping before a heavy wooden door, and released her hand to fumble in his pocket for a key, jewel-encrusted silver on a golden cord. He slipped it into the lock, turning it smoothly, gesturing for the guards to wait outside as he took her hand again. 

She didn’t know what she had expected - a dusty attic, perhaps? - but when Aryon threw wide the room’s heavy curtains what greeted her eyes was wealth beyond imagining: chests of gold and gems, stands of armor and weapons, cases of ancient spell books. She realized he’d brought her to the treasury itself.

“Choose something,” he said. “Anything. It’s yours.”

Her eyes widened at the offer. “I couldn’t possibly,” she said, looking about the room in wonder. “White mage custom…”

“White mage custom allows you to accept a gift. I would give you the kingdom if I could - I owe you that and more. Please, take something.”

She stared at the gathered riches, letting her gaze wander. She moved to the nearest bookcase, carefully pulling down a book, but found it written in Leifenish. “Would you know if any of these are white magic books? Perhaps Jack could translate it for me.”

Aryon nodded, stepping in beside her and looking over the tomes, plucking one from a high shelf. “This one’s three centuries old, and extremely valuable.”  

She reached out to take it from him, but stopped. She couldn’t say why her eyes were drawn to the corner between the bookcase and the wall, but once she’d spied the white wooden staff leaning there, she knew no other treasure in the room would do.

“This,” she said, taking it up. “Oh, this is perfect.”

“Nothing else?” Aryon asked.  

She shook her head. “I got to hear your voice. That’s the best prize I could ask for.” 

He smiled, holding the book out for her. “This too,” he said. “I insist.”

She took it in one hand, and with the staff in the other her hands were full, else she might have stopped him when he gave her the jeweled key as well, dropping the golden cord over her head and lifting her hair so that it settled against her neck. “Aryon!” she said, shocked at the wealth this key alone represented. 

“I told you,” he said. “I owe you my kingdom and more.”

She knew what he would do next before he did it. When his hands came up, so slowly, to cradle her face, she could have backed away, but she didn’t.  _ When a gift is given freely, you should accept it with an open heart, _ she thought, reciting white mage philosophy in her head. Aryon’s lips brushed hers, feather-light, for only an instant, but he stood there much longer, bent down as he rested his forehead against hers. He said nothing, but he didn’t need to: she could feel his mind as she had while he slept, and she knew there weren’t enough words for this.

* * *

On a stretch of beach away from the harbor, Jack sat cross-legged in the sand, just as uncomfortable now as he had been when Orin taught him the meditation technique. Perhaps being uncomfortable was necessary? Maybe that was the part that took one’s mind off of other troubles. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about the hollow, like picking at a wound, or poking his tongue into the gap left behind by a lost tooth. He knew that with a moment’s thought that hollow could be filled, and he hated himself for even thinking it.  _ It’s always been there, _ he told himself.  _ It isn’t new. It’s always been empty. It can  _ stay  _ empty. _

He turned at the sound of footsteps behind him, and when he saw that it was Lena, his heart beat a little faster.  _ She must have gone for a swim, _ he thought, because though she wore the white hooded robe again, her hair hung damply over it, a shade darker for being wet. She carried a large bundle in one hand and what looked like a staff in the other. 

“My lady,” he said, standing to greet her, but his sleeping legs wouldn’t cooperate, and he fell on his backside in the sand with a truncated cry. Embarrassment rose in him, and the ice rose with it, and he fought it back.

She dropped her things as she hurried to kneel at his side, eyes wide with concern, and said, “Are you alright?” 

He couldn’t answer, concentrating on calming the aether, but managed a nod.

She smiled then, settling into the sand beside him, and the two of them faced the water together. Jack focused on calming his emotions, tried to be subtle about gripping the hilt of the little knife he kept in his belt to aid his focus. 

He’d nearly sorted himself out when she threw him into chaos again by saying, “The prince was so grateful he offered me a position in the castle.”

_ She’s come to tell me goodbye, _ he thought, feeling his muscles tense in sudden fear, as if he would run away from the entire situation, but then he felt her hand light on his shoulder. When he looked over at her, her green eyes gazed into his. 

“I turned him down,” she said. “Our quest is too important to set aside.”

His hand gripped the knife so tightly he thought his fingers might break, but still he could feel the cold rising, spreading out from his gut, which it seemed to him had dropped off and was falling somewhere bottomless and vast. Jack fought against the urge to shiver. He couldn’t speak as he held the aether back, watching her watching him. 

She smiled once more, looking away long enough to reach for something on her other side, among the things she’d dropped when she hurried over to him, and when she turned back she held the staff she’d been carrying. “But he did give me this.”

Jack looked down at the thick, gnarled white wood. It was holly, perhaps a little taller than Lena was. He noticed a band of Leifenish carving that encircled it near the middle, but as he tried to read it, Lena moved, holding the staff out, and he understood then that she was offering it to him.

“For me?” he asked, finding his voice at last.

“I thought, since I broke your other one…” She looked out at the water again, twirling a strand of her hair with one hand, and he was surprised to realize that she was embarrassed. “I may not be a black mage, but I understand that a mage’s staff is more than just a stick.” 

He’d never mentioned it, the broken staff. If he had, he felt he would have had to tell her what that Pravokan shopkeeper had told him about the power being drawn out of it. But it had never occurred to him that she felt bad for breaking it. He tried to read her face, but she was turned just enough that he couldn’t see her expression. 

He reached for the weapon, and the moment his gloved hand closed around it, the chill that had seeped into his bones abated. Amazed, he called up his aether sight and was greeted by the aura that had sunk into the wood, all that remained of the staff’s previous owner. It matched his own. He turned it so that he might read the Leifenish carving.  _ Unesdala, _ it said in a stern, angular script.  _ Ice. _ He knew Lena didn’t read Leifenish; it seemed that by sheer coincidence, she’d found him an ice mage’s staff. 

He noticed she was watching him again, her pale blue aura shimmering with nervous energy, and when his eyes met hers, she began to ramble. “I couldn’t tell if it was comparable to your last one - I mean, the other had such lovely carving on it, not all blocky like this one’s, and I know it’s shorter - but when I saw it, I knew it was meant for you. It just… it just  _ felt  _ right. Do you like it?” 

_ I don’t think I’ve ever heard so many words from her in one go, _ he thought, grinning. “Can’t you tell, my lady?”

“No, actually,” she said, looking down at where she opened and closed her toes in the sand while her fingers continued to twine through her hair. “You’re difficult to read. I really have to work at it.”

He started to say something else but forgot what it was, stopping short as her words set in. “You don’t know what I’m feeling?”

She shook her head, darting a glance at him, smiling shyly as she wrung her hands together in front of her. “Not generally. You hide it very well. And…” She ducked her head, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “And I can’t exactly go by your facial expressions.”

He looked down at the staff, admiring the complexity of the focus spells woven into the wood.  _ I don’t have to hide it,  _ he thought,  _ not while I have this.  _ Gripping the staff in one hand, he reached the other up to pull his scarf down so that she could see his smile, ugly though he thought it was. “This is the nicest gift anyone has ever given me,” he told her. 

She beamed at him.

_ Do you see, Lord Redden? _ he thought, smiling so broadly himself that the scars at his mouth were painfully tight.  _ If she can’t feel what I’m feeling, then that smile is certainly her own.  _ Made bold by his happiness, he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss. 

He worried he’d been too forward when she pulled away, blushing as red as her hair as she pushed to her feet. She cleared her throat and said, “Shall we join the others?”

“Others?” Jack asked, pulling his scarf back into place.

She nodded. “Everyone is at the ship.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, it was very strange. I only mentioned leaving and Lord Redden seemed to take that as his cue to pack us all up. You know, I half think he was worried I would stay.”

He laughed at that, but felt it best not to say anything. He stood, and his legs held him this time. He offered Lena his arm for the first time in what seemed an eternity, but as she took it and moved in beside him, her fingers brushed over the hilt of the dagger in his belt.  _ Oathbreaker, _ he thought, and he found he couldn’t stand the thought of her touching it, not after he’d used it for something so terrible. 

He pulled her hand from his arm, gently, and held the holly staff out to her. “Would you hold this for a moment please?”

She took it, though her brows drew together in confusion.

“Thank you,” he said. He stepped toward the water until the waves lapped over the toes of his boots, drew back his arm, and threw the little dagger as hard as he could. It spiraled away, turning end over end, glittering as it arched up and fell, hitting the water blade first with hardly any splash at all. He stared at the place where it landed for the space of a breath, then turned back to Lena.

“What was that?” she asked, looking so lovely and confused that his smile returned again at the sight of her.

“Just something I don’t need anymore,” he said, walking to her side, holding his arm out for her. She still carried the staff, but he was close enough to use it. He sighed as he felt its effects, relaxing properly for the first time since Pravoka. 

Lena squeezed his arm as they walked, and when he looked at her, she smiled up at him. “I missed you,” she said.

“I missed you, too,” he told her. He hoped she could feel how sincerely he meant it.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _10/14/16: Finally the reunion you’ve all been waiting for. I hope you liked it. That’s one ship that’s getting ready to sail (and I’m not talking about the Sahagin Prince, if you know what I mean)._   
>  _I spent a little time on FFVIII recently and it really hit me how much of Jack’s character came from Squall. You have this shy, quiet young man, with a depth of feeling that he can’t even begin to express, and suddenly this beautiful girl comes into his life and turns his world upside down. He has no idea how to handle these emotions he’s feeling, torn between keeping them inside as he’s always done or risking the aftermath of acting on them. Obviously, as this story takes the form of a novel, you and I can see inside Jack’s head and know that he has these feelings, but it’s harder to get something like that across in a video game. A lot of people don’t like Squall. They say he’s flat or wooden. I think they just don’t get him._   
>  _Of course, he’s not sarcastic and sassy like our Jack is._


	32. On Westerly Winds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: On Westerly Winds from Final Fantasy XIV. Click[here](https://youtu.be/OpmllUx9ga0) for the original or [here](https://youtu.be/wTsUWmAkFJg) for a lovely guitar and flute cover. _

“There,” Lena said, tugging his sleeve in the pitch black room. “On the left.”

“I see it,” Jack said. He could, now that she pointed it out: the tiny, smoky white aura of a rat. It was hard to see against the raw aether, which itself tended to resemble a white fog - dumb beasts and wild animals never did develop a unique aura - but as white mages couldn’t see the raw aether, Lena didn’t have that problem. He searched the aether for the makings of a Sleep spell and flung it at the creature. “Done. Any others?”

She was quiet, and though he couldn’t fully read her expression, he assumed she was sending her soul sight about the ship’s murky, cluttered hold, looking for more of the pests they had been seeking for the past hour. He’d been keenly aware all that time of how close she stood to him; on his other side, he gripped the ice staff so tightly that his hand ached. Of the times he’d daydreamed about being alone in a dark room with her, this was not what he’d had in mind, but when the thought skittered through his head like one of the rats they hunted, he could feel himself blushing so fiercely he was sure she could see it in the dark.

“I think that may be the last of them,” she said eventually.

“Alright,” Jack said, patting her arm before he stepped away from her. “Wait here. I’ll get it.”

He stepped carefully around the crates filling the belly of the ship. The aether sight would never take the place of a respectable lantern, but he could at least make out where he was going. Every item in the hold held traces of past aether, of where it had come from and whoever had handled it, a thin layer that glowed for a black mage in faint outlines like a dusting of flour on a cake. As he shifted a box out of the way so that he could reach the rat, he wondered what it was like for Lena: total darkness perhaps, except for his aura and hers in their separate shades of blue, and the cluster of lights in the crate beside the stairs that now held the rats.

When he approached her with this last one, she held her hands out for it, and he gently passed it to her. Her hands glowed softly as she checked over it, making sure it was free of injury or disease. _How very like her to care about the well-being of something so small as this,_ he thought. “We make a good team,” he said, guiding her toward the stairs with an arm around her shoulders.

She sighed, cradling the sleeping beast as she followed his lead. “I know we can’t leave them down here to eat all our food, but I hate thinking I have any part in killing them.”

“If any are left when we reach Melmond, you and I will take them into the countryside and let them go,” he told her. “But the ochu won’t last that long without fresh meat.”

“I wish it could keep eating fish. It’s so much easier with fish.” She handed the rat back to him when they reached the crate, specially warded to keep them from chewing their way out if they should wake. Jack carefully set the animal down among the others, refraining to mention that Lena was the one who had examined the ochu and declared that it required a more varied diet. “Even I eat fish,” she mumbled as they climbed the stairs up to the middle deck. “Fish don’t have cute little whiskery faces.”

Though the middle deck was dim at this time of day, the afternoon light coming from the upper decks seemed uncomfortably bright after their hour in the hold. Jack glanced over at Lena, able to see her pout now that they were out of the dark, and couldn’t resist teasing her. “My lady, I wonder if you’ve ever heard of such a thing as a catfish?”

That drew a laugh from her, a short, snorting one as she rolled her eyes. “Your cleverness is going to get you in trouble someday,” she said, shaking her head at him.

They both flinched at a shout from ahead of them; across the ship in the galley, Biggs, an older pirate, hollered commands at whoever had been tasked with helping him prepare supper. Jack bristled at the tone, but relaxed when Lena seemed unconcerned - the old man was more or less deaf, and shouted as a matter of course. The two of them walked on, stopping shy of the stairs to the main deck. She must have known he wouldn’t follow her up; Jack had spent the days since they left Elfheim not far from where they now stood. He saw her eyes flit over to the table in the corner where his books waited for him beside a squat lamp. “Is that old book still puzzling you?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, nervous. She hadn’t yet asked him what sort of spells Astos’s ancient tome contained; if she did, he would have to tell her it was devoted, as far as he could make out, almost entirely to the practice of dark magic. He didn’t want to answer any uncomfortable questions about why he would devote so much of his time to the study of such a thing.

Instead, he was faced with a far more uncomfortable question when Lena asked, “Are you avoiding us all?”

“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly, perhaps. His own voice sounded cowardly in his ears and he suddenly doubted himself. “That is… Not intentionally.”

“Then…” she said, releasing his arm as she turned to face him. “Will I see you at dinner tonight?”

“Yes.”

She smiled and turned to go, holding the edge of her white robe so that it wouldn’t trip her on the stairs. Only when she had gone did he realize what he’d done, agreeing to her request without thinking. He was comfortable enough eating in front of his friends, but the pirate crew had not yet seen his naked face. He wondered briefly how he might wriggle his way out of it without hurting Lena’s feelings, but as he stood there pondering, staring up the stairs, Kane appeared at the top and came down.

“Jack,” he said, flashing a mischievous, white-toothed grin. “What was Lena so pleased about?”

“I told her I’d come to dinner.”

Kane blinked in surprise. “You did? Why would you do a thing like that?”  

“She asked,” Jack said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Kane barked out a laugh. “I’ve got ten gil that says you’ll be too nervous to eat three bites.” He sat back on the stairs, one leg stretched out, the other folded beneath him because of the way his sword sat at his waist. When he’d made himself comfortable, he asked, “Have you kissed her yet?”

“E-excuse me?” Jack stuttered.

“I beg your pardon, I mumble sometimes. I asked if you had kissed her.”

“I heard what you said!” Jack croaked. “That’s… That’s not something you ask someone!”

Kane chuckled. “Don’t be so prudish. I’m on your side, remember? Just don’t be surprised if father and Orin have a chat with you later about taking advantage of the poor, impressionable soul reader.”

Jack scowled. He didn’t relish the thought of repeating the conversation they’d had in the groves.

Kane waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, that’s not what I came down here to tell you. Listen, Jack, I’ve been thinking: Tonight, when I give Shipman his sword lesson, you’re getting one too.”

“Come again?”

“‘Never to harm my fellow man’, right?” Kane said quickly. “That’s how your oath goes? But that’s only for your magic. I asked father about battle mages. He told me they fought with swords. That means your oath doesn’t stop you from learning to use a real weapon.”

“I _have_ a real weapon!” Jack protested, raising his staff for emphasis.

“Yes, you have a staff,” Kane said, rolling his eyes. “You had one in Pravoka too, and you fought well with it. Then you lost it.”

“I didn't lose-” Jack started to say.

But Kane raised a hand, cutting him off. “And you had to square off against a dark mage with nothing but a boot knife.”

“It was a dagger,” Jack said, contemptuously.

“It was a steak knife with delusions of grandeur,” said Kane. “And I can’t help but notice you seem to have lost that too. Look, I promised Sarah I would protect you. To my mind, that means I ought to teach you to protect yourself.”

“I _can_ protect myself!” Jack said, though he was aware that the whine in his voice said otherwise.

Kane shrugged, crossing his arms in front of him as he leaned back against the stairs. “What about Lena? Can you protect her? Where were you when that pirate attacked her in Pravoka?”

“Saving you!” Jack snapped. The question angered him, and the anger chilled him. He gripped his staff in both hands, but he couldn’t seem to focus on the spells it held.

“Before that,” Kane said, infuriatingly calm. “You left her alone so you could lure those other men away. What if you had known how to fight them off? Think about it!”

“I have, alright?” Jack shouted. He could feel the aether flowing into him, spilling out again. He could feel it in his eyes. Kane stared at him in silence; the only sound was a crackling in the air as frost formed all around them, on Jack’s coat, on his hands, on the bottom-most stairs and the tops of Kane’s boots. “Gods, not again,” he said, only a whisper, but he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Kane stared at him almost appraisingly. There was no fear in that look, only concern. “What’s happened to you, Jack?”

He couldn’t meet the guardsman’s gaze; instead, he looked down at the staff, at the carving framed by his hands, the Leifenish name for ice, not the word for it, but the true name. “I don’t know,” he said, as his face burned with shame. “The aether responds to my emotions. It always has.”

“But it’s getting worse,” Kane said, not a question, but a fact. “Back in Cornelia, I saw you face down the mage council without even batting an eye. You didn’t so much as raise your voice. But this? This was hardly an argument. And this isn’t the first time I’ve seen you lose control.”

“No,” Jack said, squeezing his eyes shut as he forced down his rising embarrassment and the rush of aether that accompanied it. “It’s… It’s getting harder. This helps,” he said, gesturing with his staff. “It’s not just a weapon. There are spells bound to it that help a mage control the aether. But it’s not enough.”

“Is it because of Astos?” Kane asked.

Jack shook his head. “No. Not entirely. What happened at the Keep exacerbated it, but it started before then.” _When I drew off of Gollor,_ Jack thought, but he couldn’t tell Kane that, not after they’d fought and killed dark mages together. He tried to explain it in the most non-magical way possible. “When I… when I performed that ritual to find the cause of the curse… I think I broke something… inside.”

Kane sat forward on the stairs, bracing his elbows on his knees. His sword clattered against the steps as he moved. “Broke how?”

“I used to be able to ignore it. It wouldn’t bother me as long as I kept my emotions even.”

The guardsman nodded. “So you lock your feelings away. Orin’s people do a similar thing during combat. It’s supposed to help them fight.”

“So did the battle mages. That’s where I learned it. My…” Words flashed through his mind - mentor, guardian, friend - but none seemed adequate to describe what Cedric had been to him. “One of the people who cared for me after I lost my parents, he was a battle mage. He had the same problem. He taught me to control it.”

“And that’s his coat you wear?” Kane asked, nodding toward it.

Jack nodded.

“Have you told Lena about this? Maybe she can do something to-”

“No,” Jack said. He had heard her say she didn’t know much about black magic, but would she recognize dark magic if Kane described the symptoms to her? Was that something she would have learned about at White Hall? “Kane, please don’t tell her.”

Kane shrugged. “I’m not a mage. I don’t know what it’s like for you. But this battle mage trick you cling to? It’s meant for combat, not for everyday. You can’t hold back forever.”

He hadn’t been holding back forever, of course. He hadn’t needed to. He’d spent years holed up in dusty libraries, avoiding confrontation, avoiding the people of Crescent Lake who hated and feared him. Even now, his first inclination was to isolate himself, to hide from other people, but it was difficult to hide from people who considered him a friend. “I have to try,” he said.

Kane pushed up to his feet, smoothly and gracefully. “Try harder,” he said, cuffing Jack’s shoulder before he turned and went back up the stairs.

Jack wandered over to his table in the corner. He sat in the chair and pulled the ancient book to him, but he didn’t light the lamp, lost in thought. Had it been so obvious? If Kane knew how much he was struggling, did Lena know? Did everyone know? He looked down at the staff Lena had given him. Tentatively, he pulled his mind away from the focus spells within the weapon, and the hollow in his soul grumbled like a starving dog.

_I can’t control it anymore,_ he thought, truly knowing it for the first time. He could have worked his whole life and never held as much aether as he did now. It would have taken decades of work, Gollor had said, decades of learning how to control it. _Unless I draw from someone else,_ he thought.

_No._ He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t go that far. But even as his stomach sickened at the idea, his mind ran with it. It wouldn’t take much, he knew. Instinctively, he knew. The barest flicker of power, a morsel no bigger than the scraps they fed the ochu.

_No bigger than the soul of a rat?_ he wondered.

He pushed back from the table, standing, but frozen by his own doubts. _Never to harm my fellow man. But they’re not men. They’re only rats. Captive and sleeping, a whole box of little aetherial souls. Can I even draw from an animal?_ He thought of Lena, of the white mages’ Oath to harm no living thing. She couldn’t possibly approve. But then he thought of Cedric, of his letter to Iris, of how he’d loved her for years but hadn’t been able to tell her. _“I could never contain my happiness if you loved me in return,”_ the letter said. _That could be me,_ Jack realized. He couldn’t even stand beside her without worrying what the aether would do.

And yet she expected him at dinner.

“Confound it,” he muttered, striding toward the lower stairs, toward the ship’s hold and the darkness that awaited him there.

* * *

Kane leaned on the railing, feeling the gentle rolling of the ship. The Mondmer was rougher than the Aldean Sea, the waves higher, even when they were still in sight of the Nerrick Pass. Kane had half hoped the pass would be blocked, still devastated by the quake that had closed it, but it had been clear when they reached it, four days out of Elfheim and three ahead to Melmond. They had sailed through without a hitch not an hour past, taking him farther from Cornelia than ever.

He looked up at the quarter deck, where his father stood at the ship’s wheel beside the captain, the two of them deep in conversation. Lord Redden scowled as he spoke. _He’s as unhappy about returning to Melmond as I was about leaving Cornelia,_ Kane thought. His father grew more irritable the closer they came to his homeland.  

He returned to the task in front of him, tried to let the sword lesson take his mind off of home. “Don’t let his height intimidate you,” he told Shipman as the boy prepared to square off against Jack with a wooden sword. “He’s taller, yes, but you’re faster. Remember yesterday’s lesson?”

“Yup!” Shipman said. “Aim for the hamstrings!”

Kane cocked his head. “I didn’t teach you that.”

“No, sir! I figured that bit out for myself!” The boy stepped forward, but Jack’s attention was elsewhere.

What had started as Kane continuing Thad’s training on the ship’s deck of an evening had grown to include all of the Warriors of Light and a good number of the pirate crew, those who weren’t otherwise busy about the ship. Everywhere Kane looked, the pirates worked in twos and threes, practicing, learning from each other. You didn’t last long as a pirate without learning a few tricks along the way.

Even Lena, though she was sworn to nonviolence, trained with them, working with Orin in a corner away from the others, learning a few defensive moves from the bare-handed fighting style of the northern desert. Kane watched as the monk guided her through a maneuver meant to disarm an attacker. Her form was terrible, Kane thought, but he knew it was her legs, in the short, baggy trousers that left everything exposed below the knee, that held Jack’s gaze.

Shipman laid into the mage with the practice sword, hitting him in the legs just as he’d said he would. “Ow!” Jack bellowed. “Thad, what-”

“Do you yield?” the boy cried, swinging the wooden blade at the other leg.

Jack blocked the strike, but only just. “How can I yield if we haven’t started yet?” he asked, anger tinging his voice.

Kane laughed, and laughed harder when Jack cut him a glare. “Shipman, go practice with Felder,” he said when he got his breath back.

The boy skipped off toward the prow, where the dark-skinned young pirate worked with some of the others at the Cornelian sword drills Kane had taught them. The potted ochu dozed nearby, a tiny, hideous counterpart to the ship’s angry sahagin figurehead. With Shipman gone, Kane rolled his shoulders, assuming an attack stance, and asked, “How does it feel to lose to a boy of eleven?”  

Jack’s demeanor made the figurehead look tame by comparison, though the blue scarf he wore hid most of his face. “Humiliating!” His eyes darted toward the corner nearby where his white staff leaned unobtrusively out of the way. The spellbound weapon was never more than a few feet from him.

The motion wasn’t lost on Kane. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” Jack said, letting the tip of his sword fall to the deck, but raising it to ready position again when Kane made a threatening gesture. He huffed out a frustrated breath. “I can handle another hour, but then I’ll need a break.”

Kane nodded. The mage had taken to retreating to the ship’s hold several times a day, claiming he needed the quiet and the dark to get his mind straight, to sort out this problem he had with the aether. Whatever he was doing, it seemed to work. Still, it was clear the sword training was disheartening him. “Don’t get discouraged,” Kane said, bringing his sword around in a wide, slow attack that Jack had plenty of time to block. “Shipman only has a month’s training on you. Less than that, as I don’t think he practiced at all when he was in Elfheim.”

“I didn’t know the match had started!” Jack protested, but Kane followed up the slow attack with a quicker one and the mage had to hurry to fend it off.

Kane chuckled. “Maybe if you kept your eye on your own opponent instead of Orin’s you’d have better luck.”

“It’s possible I need a better teacher,” Jack said, attempting a clumsy attack of his own, which Kane blocked easily.

“Orin’s always saying when the student is ready, the teacher will appear,” said Kane, whipping his sword out to thump Jack’s bicep where he’d left himself open. “Meanwhile, you get me. Keep your guard up.”

Kane settled into drills then, repetitive exercises that built up muscle memory. He moved slowly for Jack’s sake, building speed as the mage caught on. Jack wasn’t as bad as he believed himself to be. Fighting with a staff had made him good at blocking. Kane occasionally called out short commands like, “Left,” or “Arms in,” but otherwise he kept silent.

He became vaguely aware they’d acquired an audience: Shipman, Felder, a handful of others. Jack didn’t seem to notice them until Felder yelled, “Just finish him off already!”

Between one move and the next, Jack hesitated, and Kane landed a blow to the distracted mage’s side that he should have been able to block. His coat took the brunt of it, but when Jack grunted at the impact, Kane winced in sympathy nonetheless. The small crowd cheered the strike, hooting approval.

“Sorry,” Kane hissed, letting his sword’s point fall in a gesture of surrender. “We’ll stop there.”

“Come on!” Cole said, laughing. “You’re going too easy on him.”

“Easy?” Jack said, rubbing his side. “He nearly had me in half!”

The white-blond pirate grinned. “That’d put you at about the right size, long-shanks. Good thing for you he pulled that hit at the last.”

“Of course I was going easy,” Kane said. “It’s only his third lesson. What do you expect?”

Cole snorted out a derisive laugh. “I expected to see more than you waving your sword about like a priss. Looked more like a dancing lesson to me. Wouldn’t you say, Felder?”

“Aye,” Felder said. “Was that one of those court dances I hear so much about? Learned that from your princess, did you?”

The other pirates, four altogether, laughed. Shipman looked between the lot of them in dismay, clearly confused at the good-natured mocking. _He’s not used to it,_ Kane thought. The pirates were behaving no differently than the guards in the barracks back home. He worried briefly that Jack might be uncomfortable with such treatment, but Jack appeared unbothered. Kane grinned, facing Cole, and said, “Tough talk from a street brawler who only started learning the sword yesterday.”

The gathered pirates grinned and chuckled. One whistled at the comeback. Cole and Felder exchanged glances, Cole with a wicked smile, Felder expressionless. “All talk is it?” Cole said, waving his practice sword as he flexed his wrist. “Alright. The two of us against the two of you. What do you say?”

Kane looked at Jack. The mage nodded. “You’re on,” Kane said. “Standard dueling rules?”

“Don’t know any other kind,” said Felder. “Care to wager on it?”

“I would,” said Kane.

“You’re flat broke,” Jack whispered.

“Yes, but you’re not,” he whispered back. Kane couldn’t believe Jack had held him to that throw-away bet. He’d been trying for three days to convince the mage to let him win back the gil he’d lost. To Felder, he said, “How does ten gil sound?”

“Sounds like you’re buying us drinks in Melmond,” Cole said. He thumped Shipman’s arm. “Start us off, kid.”

Shipman smiled uncertainly and moved over a few steps so that he was facing the space between them.  He raised a hand high in the air, waiting for the four of them to assume their stances.

“Leave Felder to me. Focus on Cole,” Kane muttered. “He’d beat you in a fist fight, but he has as much experience with a sword as you do.”

“Got it,” Jack said.

“Fighters ready?” Shipman asked.

“Hold on,” Cole said. He raised a hand to cup his mouth as he yelled across the deck. “Hey, Lena! Miss Lena! We’re having a duel! Will you watch?”

“Bastard!” Jack hissed.

“Stay focused!” Kane said. “He’s only trying to distract you.”

“It’s working!” Jack’s entire posture showed his distress; his back was too straight, as if the bones were fused together, and his arms were stiff. “Is she watching?”

Kane looked over his shoulder. On the other side of the ship, Lena smiled and gave him a little wave of encouragement. “Don’t look,” he said.

“Kane!” Jack said, his voice strangled.

“Oh, she’s watching, alright,” Cole said, waving back to her. “If I decide I’m going over there to steal a kiss, can you stop me?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Jack growled.

“Jack, focus, damn it!” Kane said.

“Fighters ready?” Shipman repeated sharply, rolling his eyes to show how tired he was of holding his hand in the air.

“Ready,” Cole and Felder said together.

“This was a mistake,” Kane muttered.

Jack stared at him.

Shipman cleared his throat loudly, glaring at both of them.

“Ready,” Kane said.

Shipman’s hand dropped.

Felder went for Jack, of course. Kane had expected it. While Cole had no experience with a sword, Felder did. The dark skinned pirate lacked formal training, but he fought well with the curved, single-edged blades from his homeland on the Stone Coast. Kane got in front of him, blocking Felder’s wooden sword with his own. “Let the beginners have their fun,” Kane said.  

Felder grinned. “If you wanted to dance, my lord, you could have asked nicely.”

“Don’t call me that,” Kane said, shoving him away, freeing his sword. He brought the wooden blade around in a tight slash, but Felder ducked sideways, kicking at Kane’s ankle as he did so. Kane cried out, shifting his weight to his other foot. The movement left him exposed on one side, but Felder wasn’t quick enough to land a strike before Kane had his sword up again.

The pirate _was_ fast, though. He fought by ducking and evading, only occasionally striking out, a style obviously suited for a man who was used to being one fighter among many rather than for one on one combat. Kane fought defensively, knowing Felder needed to end the fight quickly before he tired himself out. The sounds of their wooden blades cracking together stung his ears.

Felder struck at Kane’s shoulder, but Kane blocked it easily. The pirate smirked, grabbing Kane’s wrist, keeping their weapons locked together. “This is why people say you southerners can’t dance, you know. You never move your feet.” He slammed his knee into Kane’s gut with the force of a charging ox.

Kane doubled over, momentarily unable to breathe. He watched helplessly as Felder stepped in behind Jack. The mage didn’t notice, focused on Cole. Felder swept Jack’s feet from under him with one low kick. Jack fell hard. As Cole stepped forward, pointing his wooden blade at Jack’s throat, Felder came back for Kane, resting his sword across the back of Kane’s neck like the executioner at the chopping block. “Yield,” Felder said.

Kane could do nothing but nod.

“That’s not fair,” Jack said from the deck. “You said standard dueling rules!”

“Didn’t your father ever teach you life’s not fair?” Cole said, chuckling.

Felder laughed. “See, Cole? Didn’t I tell you a mage would fall as easily as anyone?”

Kane heard cheering as the watching pirates congratulated their young companions, but then one voice rose above the others, sharp and angry, a string of words in Leifenish. Kane felt the Silence spell close over his throat like a swallowed wasp, hot and stinging. The pirates’ cheers died abruptly as the spell landed. Some cried out in alarm, but only gasps escaped their lips.

“You boys want to fight a mage?” Kane’s father asked, walking slowly into their midst. He drew his sword, not one of the wooden practice swords but the thin-bladed weapon he’d brought from Cornelia. “Fine. Come and fight a mage.”

“No!” Cole tried to say. It came out in a croaking whisper. He threw his practice sword to the deck and raised his hands in an unmistakable gesture of surrender.

“Redden, wait!” Felder said, his voice breaking. He backed away from Kane until he hit the ship’s rail and could go no farther. Cole was right there with him.

Lord Redden muttered another spell, and his sword caught alight, fire dancing along the edge of his blade. “You’d best brace yourselves, lads,” he said. His face was expressionless, his voice eerily calm.

Cole and Felder talked over one another, pleading, but their Silenced voices squeaked incomprehensibly, like the buzzing of summer cicadas. The other pirates murmured, but none stepped forward to help the unfortunate pair.

“That’s enough!” another voice shouted, seeming louder for the hush of the others. Gabbiani hurried in front of his youngest crewmen, hand raised to stop Lord Redden’s forward progress. “That’s quite enough!”

“Captain!” Felder squawked.

“You, shut your gob,” the captain said, pointing at him. “It’s kitchen duty from here to Melmond. Report to Mr. Biggs, the pair of you. If I see your noses outside of the galley before we make port, I’ll break ‘em. Mark my words.” He watched as the two of them scrambled away toward the lower decks, then looked at Lord Redden questioningly.

Kane’s father nodded. He flicked his sword, extinguishing the magical fire, and when he sheathed the blade, it rang with a sound like a plucked harp string.

The captain sighed as if in sudden relief, as if he’d truly been worried that Lord Redden would use magic against a pair of upstart boys. He turned to Jack, who still sat on the deck where he’d fallen during the fight. “Jack, with me. Bring the Tear.” He stalked off toward the stairs to the quarter deck without waiting to see if Jack followed.

Jack pushed unsteadily to his feet. Lena stepped forward to help him, but he waved her off, whispering assurances that Kane couldn’t hear as he retrieved his staff from the corner. Shipman walked with him, passing him the green orb on its long silver chain as the two of them followed the captain.

“Kane?” Lena said, her voice soft but unaffected by the Silence spell.

“I’ll take care of him,” said Redden.

Lena nodded, walking away with Lord Orin.

Kane winced as he tried to stand straighter; it felt as though a ball of pain was pulling him in on himself. Redden laid a hand on his lower back, casting Cure, and Kane felt his muscles relax, but he ached all over. Still, he tried not to show it as he faced his father. “I didn’t need you to rescue me!” he said, his voice still harsh and raspy.

“I wasn’t rescuing you,” Redden said. “I was rescuing them.”

“Maybe you missed the part where they won that fight?”

Redden chuckled. “They did. They fought dirty and they beat you soundly. Did it ever occur to you to cheat?”

Kane blinked. “What?”

“I know it never occurred to Jack,” Redden said. “He didn’t once use his magic against those two, not for a play fight like this. He could have ended it with a thought. But those boys were set to believe they’d fought a mage and won, and that sort of thinking will get both of them killed. Not all mages fight with honor. Not all of them swear oaths.” He gripped Kane’s shoulder, looking him in the eyes. “Don’t think you know black mages just because you know one of them, son. I know Jack’s your friend, but he’s a dog among wolves. If you go thinking all black mages are the same breed, you’ll end up with your throat ripped out. Don’t ever forget it.”

He held Kane’s gaze, waiting for a reply. Kane coughed to clear the last dregs of the Silence away, then said, “Yes, sir.”

Redden nodded, walking toward the door to the captain’s cabin, where Orin waited. Kane watched him go, but his eyes were drawn to the quarter deck above them, where Jack stood staring up at the sails as he controlled the wind. They were sailing toward the sunset, and the orange light made the mage seem more real than the shadows behind him. His eyes glowed green, like the orb he held at his side, like an animal’s eyes on a dark night.    

* * *

“Ain’t you bored, Shipman?” the pirate Maxell asked.

Thad shook his head. He sat cross-legged on the quarter deck, watching Jack control the wind, trying to see the aether himself. He was so close! He could feel it all the time now. He’d seen it before, by accident, but couldn’t seem to get the hang of calling up the aether sight on command. If only he could figure out how to… how to _feel_ it with his _eyes_. That made no sense, but that was how his brain interpreted the sensation he understood instinctively but couldn’t describe.

“Suit yourself,” said Maxell, holding the ship’s wheel steady as the rough waves rocked the ship despite Jack’s efforts. “Reckon we’ll hit Melmond by morning if he keeps this up. What do you say?”  

Thad shook his head again. He knew the signs by now. He’d been watching the mage for most of two days. When he was fresh, Jack watched the sails, the sky, occasionally the waves ahead or behind, but when he grew tired, he closed his eyes, concentrating on his aether sight. Jack’s eyes were closed now. Soon, he’d pinch the space between his eyes, or rub his temples, and then he’d stumble below decks to sleep it off for a few hours. “He can’t. He’s about done,” Thad said.

“I _can_ hear you, you know,” Jack said, tilting his head Thad’s way though his eyes remained shut.

“Am I wrong?” Thad said.

The mage only grumbled in reply.

Maxell chuckled, a rumbling noise that echoed from his barrel chest. “Ah, well. We’ll still make it in time for Midsummer. Won’t that be a treat?”

“Yup,” Thad said absently. He focused on the flow of aether around him, focused on the orb in Jack’s hand. He opened and closed his eyes. He squinted. He held his hand in front of him, concentrated on the aether moving over it, willed himself to _see_ it move.

...And then he did. It was so subtle at first he nearly missed it, a ripple on the back of his hand, just as if the muscles and bones were moving beneath the skin yet he knew he held perfectly still. He stared at the odd motion, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

_What did I do just now?_ he thought, trying to recall exactly what he’d felt, trying to repeat the sensation.

He was still working on it some minutes later when he felt the flow of aether taper off. Jack swayed where he stood, rubbing his temples. He stepped slowly over to where Thad sat and held the orb out to him, letting it dangle by its long chain, and as it swung in front of Thad’s face, it shone.

_There!_ Thad thought. He’d done it! He’d called up the aether sight!

“Take it already,” Jack muttered.

Thad snatched the Tear out of the air, holding it in his open palm, just… just staring at it. It was so beautiful! He thought to say something, to tell Jack, but Jack was already heading down to the main deck, too exhausted from working the aether to walk straight. The aether moved as the mage passed through it, like smoke, like ink in water. It moved around everyone - there weren’t many people on deck this late in the evening, but the aether responded to each of them.

He didn’t know how long he sat there seeing the world through new eyes, trying to take it all in. It wasn’t just the people he noticed. The aether had substance. In places it flowed, but in other places it seemed solid, like dust motes in a sunbeam, glittering flecks settling over everything, moving in unnatural breezes. The ship’s deck seemed to glow, like it was covered in fireflies, even in the deepest of the twilit shadows.

“Getting dark.” Maxell’s voice startled him; Thad had forgotten he was there. “Ought you to be gettin’ to bed too?”

“Hmm,” he said. _Dark. Yes._ That was why he had wanted to learn aether sight, wasn’t it? So he wouldn’t have to be afraid of the dark? “G’night, Maxell,” he said, heading below decks.

He walked through the strange fog, moving hesitantly as he adjusted to what he was seeing, this substance that was very clearly there, to his mind, but that had no bearing on his physical space. He couldn’t help but think he should feel some sort of resistance when he moved through a thicker patch of it. It seemed particularly thick around the crew quarters on the lower deck. _Because aether comes from living things,_ he thought, remembering something he’d read in his magic book. A handful of men were already settled in for the night; Thad could see Jack in his hammock in the corner, dead to the world.

A few men were still awake, though, playing cards atop a chest near the galley. Redden and Kane were there, father and son enjoying the game together. The dim light of the lantern they played by seemed bright compared to the evening outside. Thad squinted against it, but even when he closed his eyes altogether, the aether sight was still there.

He ducked around under the stairs to the main deck and stood at the top of the stairs leading down to the hold. _There’s no door,_ he reassured himself, staring into that dark abyss. This ship was smaller than his father’s had been, the hold nothing but a big room at the ship’s heart. _There’s no door. They can’t lock me up in there._ He knew deep down that no one aboard this ship would do that to him, but still his heart beat like a festival drum as he took that first step.

When he was halfway down, the noise became too much for him. The creaking of the ship, the sounds of the waves lapping against the hull outside, both were louder here, loud enough that he could no longer hear the voices of the men playing cards up above. This was not his father’s ship, but it sounded just the same, and the sounds evoked memories he didn’t want to remember. He heard his father’s voice as clearly as if he was on the stairs above him: _It’s the hold for you, boy!_

Thad stopped where he was, breathing hard. _He’s not here,_ he told himself. The only people on this ship were his friends. They would come if he called. Kane was right there, and Kane wasn’t afraid of anything.

He took a deep breath and tried to focus on his aether sight, realizing through his fear that though it was dark, he could indeed still see. A shimmering rainbow haze like a fine mist covered everything. He could see the bulkheads, he could see every box and trunk.

And one of those boxes was glowing.

It was a mid-sized crate, nearly half his height, but quite near the stairs. He remained where he was, only looking, but his eyes kept coming back to that box. _Why is that one glowing?_ None of the others were glowing. Some of them, in fact, were nearly invisible, covered in hardly any aether at all, and he knew, though he didn’t know how, that no one had touched them in a long time.

His curiosity soon overcame his fear. Without quite knowing how he’d come there, he found himself beside the strange box. He touched the lid, but it was stuck fast. He ran his hands over it, feeling a few holes here and there, no bigger than his pinky finger, but no lock, no hinge, no nails. Odd.

There did seem to be a ribbon of aether around the seam. _A lock made of aether?_ he thought, pressing his finger into it. He knew about locks…

His hand went right through the ribbon as if it wasn’t there, pressing into the box beneath. He sighed, still unused to the idea that this thing he could see wasn’t solid. _But I should be able to touch it,_ he thought. _That’s what mages do, and I’m a mage now._

He pulled his hand back and reached for the box again, only this time he focused on the ribbon, thought about touching it, about breaking it. At his touch, it dissolved, shattering like a soap bubble. He tried the lid once more. It came loose easily.

He could see nothing inside the box, nothing but bright spots of aether. They glowed, yes, but apparently they gave off no actual light. He could see that they were there, but not what they were. _I guess the aether sight really doesn’t show everything,_ he thought, wondering if this was what Matoya saw when she looked at the world, colors and shapes without substance.

Standing on his tiptoes, he reached into the box, reached for one of the white spots, wondering if his hand would slip through it as it had slipped through the ribbon around the box’s lid, but his fingers brushed against something soft and furry. Something breathing. Some animal, asleep. He felt a cold dread in the pit of his stomach as he found the whiskers, ran his hand down the small creature’s body toward its long, ropey tail.

He ran.

* * *

Lena woke on the narrow bunk in the cabin as the sun peeked through the large window at the ship’s stern. It faced east, and the sunrise over the water was glittering and lovely. She rolled over to get a better look at it, her back twanging at the movement. She moaned, stretching, wondering not for the first time if she wouldn’t rather have one of the hammocks in the lower decks like the boys did, but the crew, with the captain foremost among them, had insisted the captain’s cabin should be hers for the duration of their travels together. _Some privilege,_ she thought, drawing her knees up as she rolled out of the uncomfortable bunk.

A cabinet on the room’s other side held a wash basin and a pitcher, both nestled in grooves in the wooden countertop so that they wouldn’t slide around if waves rocked the ship. Lena’s own things rested there: a hand mirror, a wide-toothed wooden comb, a yellow ribbon Refial had given her that made her smile but that she was unlikely to ever wear. Lena splashed some water over her face before she looked in the mirror. “Curls,” she sighed, setting it down again. Between the heat and the humidity, they were everywhere.

She took her comb back to the bunk and sat cross-legged as she set to, untangling her red hair from the bottom up, staring idly at the sunlit water as she worked. It would be a warm day, she thought, the longest day of the year. They hadn’t set out to reach Melmond at Midsummer, but they would. In Cornelia, the common people would have feasts and parties and plays, but they celebrated differently in Melmond. The Midsummer Revels were a thing of legend: three days of costumed parades and dancing in the streets. She was excited to see it. _And if my hair continues in this way,_ she thought as she struggled with the comb, _I can dress as a bird’s nest._   

She squeaked as the door burst open and a small figure darted toward her. It took her a moment to realize it was Thadius, though who else it could have been was a mystery to her. _There’s no one else of that stature aboard ship,_ she chided herself. The boy barrelled into the bed, jostling her as he burrowed under the covers behind her.

“Thadius, what in the world-”

“Hide me!” he chirped, his voice muffled by the blankets.

The door slammed open again, harder this time, and Jack stood there, out of breath, eyes narrowed and glinting with aether as he closed the door roughly behind him. “Get back here!” he snarled. “I know it was you! You’ve nowhere to hide!”

“Jack!” Lena gasped, covering her nightdress with her hands, but it was as if the mage hadn’t noticed her.

“I didn’t do anything!” Thadius said.

_Liar,_ Lena thought, sensing his guilt. She patted the top of his head, all she could reach of him as he tried to blend into the lumpy mattress. “Oh, Thadius, you shouldn't lie. It's bad for your soul!”

The boy looked at her, brown eyes wide with fear. “For your soul maybe! I have an angry black mage out for mine! I’ll lie to him if I like!”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. The very idea that anyone would be afraid of Jack seemed so ridiculous to her.

But not, it seemed, to Jack, for he glared at her. “Can you try not to be amused by this, please? I'm serious,” he snapped.

She raised her eyebrows at that, meeting him glare for glare. She felt his anger then, like the scent of distant smoke in a forest. _He does have a temper after all,_ she thought, half offended, half intrigued.  “I’m sorry, but it is amusing,” she said, trying to keep her tone imperious. “What is it he’s done?”

“Nothing!” Thadius cried before Jack could answer.

“Your aura was all over the box!” Jack said, facing the boy again as if Lena wasn’t even there.

“You don't know that it was mine!” Thadius argued.

“I do!” Jack yelled.

“Do not!”

_Like children, both of them,_ Lena thought. She was sure she sounded like her mother when she said, “Enough!” Thadius stared at her, and she could feel how much she’d surprised him. She darted a glance toward Jack, but she could read nothing in that flat, blue gaze. She sighed, turning her attention back to the boy. “He does have a point, Thadius. Your aura is a rather distinct color. If he says you touched the box, I’m inclined to believe him.”

That piqued his curiosity. She could feel his internal struggle between wanting to deny the accusation and wanting to ask questions. The curiosity won out, as it usually did with the boy. “Auras have colors?”

She smiled to put him at ease. “They do. Redden's is red, for example. Yours is green. Though I suppose Orin could have done it - his is green too.”

“It _wasn’t_ Orin,” Jack growled.

“There you have it. It wasn't Orin.”

“What about Kane?” Thadius asked.

She shook her head. “His is yellow.”

“What about yours?”

She chuckled. “I don't know. I can't see my own aura. White mages don’t work that way.”

“Then maybe it was you!” Thadius said, turning up a charming grin. She could feel his playful nature and knew he had completely forgotten about the tall black mage seething a few feet away.

“Ah, but I wouldn't be able to lie about it!” she said, ruffling his tawny hair.

“Are you two quite done?” Jack asked, in a tight, quiet voice, words clipped as if he’d spoken without moving his jaw. At his tone, Thad became afraid again.

Lena kept her attention on Thadius, ignoring Jack altogether, knowing he must be frustrated indeed if she could feel it. “Thadius,” she said gently. “Tell the truth now. Did you open our box?”

He shook his head rapidly, eyes squeezed shut. “No! I wouldn’t do that! I wouldn’t let those rats out! I wouldn’t!”

Jack started to say something, a protest she was sure, but she raised a hand to cut him off, still focused on Thad. _That’s a puzzle,_ she thought, for he was telling the truth. With every fiber of his being, he meant it. He absolutely would not do a thing like let a bunch of rats out of a box. _He’s scared to death of rats,_ she realized. _And yet…_ She stroked his hair, bent close to his ear, and whispered, “Thadius, I don’t believe either of us said anything about there being rats in that box.”

The boy began to cry.

Jack grumbled. “Don’t think you can draw us in with your tonberry tears!”

“Jack, you need to step away,” Lena said, pulling Thad into her lap and holding him.

“But Lena-”

She pointed toward the window. “Jack Ashward, if you don’t go stand in that corner right now, I won’t speak to you for a week!”

His shock flowed over her like a wave, a quick rush of sensation that made her breath catch and then was gone, but he did step stiffly toward the sunny window without once looking her way. She knew then that her words had hurt him, and if she hadn’t been holding Thadius, she would have gone to him and apologized instantly. _He doesn’t have a family,_ she remembered, thinking back to what she had seen of his past when she read his soul the day they met. _It’s just possible no one has ever spoken to him in that tone of voice before._

She rocked Thad as he cried, and by the time his tears had devolved into nothing but sniffles, she became aware of Jack’s growing remorse. She hugged Thadius a little tighter and said, “You’re not in trouble, Thadius. We can capture the rats again.” She glanced at Jack as she said it, for it was as much for him as for the boy. He faced the window, but his ear was turned toward her, and she knew he listened. “But you shouldn’t lie to us. We’re your friends. I think you should apologize to Jack, don't you?”

Thadius nodded, climbing down from the bed. He went to the corner and hugged Jack around the middle, hard enough that the mage swayed on his feet. “Sorry, Jack,” the boy said.

Jack didn’t move. He didn’t turn from the window, even as the boy disentangled himself and ran for the door. He didn’t move until she went to him, ready to take him into her arms as she had Thadius, to comfort the hurt she’d caused. He shied away from her, stepping back even as she reached for him, and she could feel him reining in his emotions again.

“I didn’t know he was sincere,” he said, looking down at the floor.

“I realized,” she said, dropping her arms to her sides. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

He shook his head. “You were in the right.”

She rubbed her arms against a sudden chill, remembering that she wasn’t properly dressed for company, but it seemed silly to be embarrassed about it now. “He's only a child. I know it's easy to forget that while we're all traveling together,” she said.

He strode for the door, but stopped with his hand on the knob. Over his shoulder he said, “It's blue.”

“What?” she asked stupidly.

“Your aura. You said you couldn't see your own. I thought you'd like to know it's blue.”

She smiled. “Blue? Like-” _Like yours,_ she’d been about to say, but he interrupted her.

“Like the sea.”

He left without another word. She stood in the corner, staring at the door, but then turned to look out the ship’s window again at the morning sun on the very blue sea, and watched with wonder as a fern of frost on the glass melted in the summer heat.

* * *

 END OF PART II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _10/21/16: At this point in the game, having acquired the magic key from the elf prince, you sail back to Cornelia and use said key to unlock a treasury where you find the TNT you can give to the dwarf Nerrick who uses it to blow up the pass so you can (finally) leave the Aldean Sea. It’s unnecessary to the plot, so I’m skipping it. Let’s go to Melmond!_   
>  _As I mentioned two weeks ago, I’m going to have to cut my update schedule drastically. I’m writing as fast as I can, but I’m still so, so slow. I considered taking a hiatus until I finished a bunch of chapters and then posting them weekly again, but I don’t want to make people wait however long that might be. So, going forward, instead of posting weekly, I’m going to post monthly. I feel terrible about it – I love knowing that people are out there reading and enjoying this story, and I hate to make you wait, but that’s the kind of time I need to continue producing these (longer and longer) chapters at the level of quality I want. I’ll update more often if I find myself several chapters ahead. Shigeru Miyamoto of Nintendo once said, “A delayed game is eventually good but a rushed game is forever bad.”_   
>  _This is my first real work of fiction, and for all I know it may be the only one I have in me, so, by God, I’m going to do it right. You can keep reading it here on the first Friday of every month. Look for the next chapter November 4, 2016._


	33. Tension in the Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Tension in the Air from Final Fantasy XIII. Click[here](https://youtu.be/lBnezIkQJGM) to hear it. _

PART III: The Earth Cave

* * *

  _Melmond Manor, Twenty-five Years Ago_

Beneath the tall oak that shaded the training yard, Redden sat. He closed his eyes and sent his senses out toward the aether. He could feel the flow of it, swifter near the manor house with its busy inhabitants, more sluggish in the swamp beyond the gardens which was the extent of his reach. He found an aetheric current that seemed workable and focused on seizing it, pulling it toward him, drawing it in.

He couldn’t always get it to work, an oddity he imagined he would understand better if he had been a real mage, able to see the aether he felt, but today he was lucky. The aether came when he called. _Now to shape it,_ he thought, trying to reconstruct the spiral pattern from the diagram in the book that lay open in his lap.

A voice near his ear very loudly asked, “What’s with all those squiggly lines?”

His eyes snapped open. Redden cursed as the aether slipped from his grasp, the half formed fire spell blooming in front of him, catching light to the very page his brother was pointing out as he crouched beside him. Cid fell back, laughing uproariously as Redden flung the book to the ground and frantically threw dirt over it. He cursed again when the fire was out and he could see that most of the chapter he was working from had been ruined. “Damn it, Cid! Are you _trying_ to get yourself lit up? You know I’m no good at this yet!”

“I’m sorry!” Cid said, clutching his side as he laughed himself to tears. “Your face! You should have seen your face!”

Redden tried to scowl, but his brother’s humor was contagious. He punched Cid lightly in his well-muscled arm. “I see my face every time I look at you, idiot.” That wasn’t entirely true. Though they had looked identical as children, these days Cid was stronger and bulkier, and his sun-bleached hair hid the fact that both of them, only twenty years old, were prematurely going gray.  

Additionally, Cid smirked far more often; he was doing so now. “Yes, sure, but I still have eyebrows.”

“What?” Redden dropped the book as he raised his fingers to his brow and felt the singed hairs breaking against his fingertips. “Titan’s teeth!”

The oath set his brother off again. Redden waited, rolling his eyes as Cid composed himself.  

“Oh,” Cid said, wiping his eyes one last time. “Oh, I truly am sorry. If I’d known you were up to fire already, I’d have been more careful. The book wasn’t valuable was it? Will you be able to replace it?”

“It’s just an Adept’s,” Redden said, shrugging. “They’re all of twenty gil. Which you’ll be paying.”

“Is that a fact?” Cid said. He stood, and Redden saw that he had two practice swords with him. He tossed one and Redden caught it out of the air. “Tell you what. Show me that you’ve worked as hard on your swordsmanship as you have on those spells, and I’ll pay twice that.”

They had the yard to themselves. It was one of the reasons Redden liked to go there in the afternoons: it was almost always abandoned at this time of day. Lord Westen’s men tended to do their training first thing in the morning, when it was cooler. As one of Westen’s wards, Redden trained with them sometimes, but he didn’t care about it as his brother did. Cid never missed a day.

Redden sighed as they squared off against each other, knowing he was in for a bruising before they even began. Cid fell easily into a ready stance that Redden still had to think through: were his feet wide enough apart? Were his arms in the right place? Was his center of gravity low enough? He never won these fights, sometimes wondered if he offered his brother any challenge at all, but Cid never complained. There were two things in all the world Redden knew Cid loved above anything else: his brother and his sword.

Well, three things, and judging from the pleased look that stole over Cid as he faced the manor, Redden assumed that third thing was coming up the path toward them.

“You’re not beating up that poor boy again, are you?” a lilting voice called.

“On the contrary,” Cid said, abandoning Redden as he approached the young woman who stopped at the fence. “I’ll have you know this is a dangerous red mage. I face him at my peril.”

Jayne smiled indulgently. “Is that so?”

“It is,” Cid said, smirking again. “In fact, I think you should kiss me. For luck.”

Redden rolled his eyes as Jayne turned an attractive shade of pink. As often as the two of them flirted like this, one would think they were both beyond silly blushes, but Cid flushed as well when Jayne leaned over the fence to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek.

The two of them stood staring dreamily at one another until Redden interrupted them. “None for me, Lady Westen? I think I need a good luck kiss more than he does.”

Cid reached back to thump him in the arm just as Jayne’s pretty face crumpled into an expression of disgust, as if he’d just asked her to eat a bug. “Ew! No!” she said. Cid smiled triumphantly.

“We’re twins! How can you kiss him and recoil from me?” Redden said.

“Because you’re nothing alike,” said Jayne. She squinted at him as though she didn’t recognize him all of a sudden. “What happened to your eyebrows?”

A shout from the guards at the manor’s gate interrupted Cid’s laugh. An oxcart driven by a filthy, ragged-looking man came through, the man gesturing to the back of the cart as he halted the beasts. The cart was full of people, all as haggard-seeming as the driver. Several of the gate guards hurried over to them, others hurried toward the manor. Redden glanced at Cid, and without speaking, both of them vaulted the training yard fence and ran toward the disturbance while Jayne ran for the house.  

For a time, Redden was focused on helping the men down from the cart. Many moved slowly, obviously injured, and Redden realized that at least some of the grime that covered them was blood. He pulled from the space within him where he knew he would find a Cure spell, thankful that he’d stuck with his white magic studies at least that far.

“-in the mine,” he heard one of the men say. “It was in the mine.”

Cid leaped into the cart, going to the last few men left in it, but when he reached them, his face turned grim. “These men are dead,” he said.

“What’s going on here?” came Lord Westen’s commanding voice as he marched with determined steps down the path from the manor house with Jayne in his wake.  

“We were mining the south cape,” the cart driver said, his voice shaking. “We broke through into another cave. There was… there was something in it.”

“What do you mean?” Westen demanded.

“My lord, I think we found the underworld.”

* * *

 

_Melmond Harbor, Present Day_

As the ship pulled into the harbor, Kane stood at the prow, just out of Oscar’s reach. The ochu growled as it waved its viney tentacles toward him, the two stubby ones Jack had used to make Aryon’s elixir already an inch longer than they’d been a week ago. Shipman stood nearby, tempting the foul little monster with bits of meat, but it seemed intent on eating Kane. The pot rocked back and forth as the cat-sized plant voiced its displeasure. _You and me both, friend,_ Kane thought.

He looked down as a hand softly touched his arm. “Is our company so terrible?” Lena asked quietly, smiling shyly up at him.

_Nothing like having a soul reader around to make you aware of your temper,_ he thought. He had been well aware of his father’s temper that morning. Lord Redden’s patience had been fraying as they neared Melmond, but it had finally snapped when they’d seen the Rot along the coast as they sailed in. He’d growled as fiercely as the ochu, taking out his anger on everyone, including Kane. Cole and Felder, still fearful of the red mage, had sequestered themselves in the galley with Biggs. Jack, meanwhile, was hiding in the hold again and had been there since before Kane awoke. When Kane had gone to check on him, not only had the mage tersely sent Kane away, he had stated quite firmly that he would not be coming out for the duration of their stay in Melmond.

Which left Kane at the prow with the ochu and the only two people on the ship with nothing better to do than keep out of the way. Kane sighed, shoving his irritation down. “Sorry,” he said. “I just… Do you ever feel like no one wants you around?”

Lena arched an eyebrow at him, her smile becoming a one-sided smirk. “What, you mean like when my handsome guardsman friend doesn’t want to stand with me?”

Kane chuckled, embarrassed. “Fair point.”

“Are you sure Oscar’s not hungry? He sure sounds hungry! Maybe he’s sick?” Shipman said behind him.

“I promise he’s fine, Thadius,” Lena said. “He’s not growling because he’s hungry. He’s growling because he’s a wild thing. Jack keeps telling you an ochu isn’t a pet.”

“How do you know he’s a he?” Kane asked.

Lena looked at him innocently, but her too-wide eyes betrayed a subtle sarcasm. “Because Oscar’s a boy’s name.”

Kane laughed. “Naturally.” He watched the men busy about the ship, the dock workers below, all working together to bring the _Sahagin Prince_ in. They were tying off now, lowering a gangplank. The docks were bustling, but they weren't as crowded as Kane thought they should be, as there was space to accommodate far more ships than the low number he saw. He heard more growling beside him, but not from the ochu. Lena blushed as her stomach rumbled loudly. “Did you skip breakfast?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, her smile looking guilty as she chewed her bottom lip. “I’m waiting until we go into town.”

“Whatever for?” Kane said, intrigued, trying to recall if his father had ever mentioned the local cuisine. “I hadn’t heard anything special about the food here.”

Lena clasped her hands in front of her, like a child awaiting a gift. “Oh, it’s wonderful! Father Branford and I stayed a week here on my way to Cornelia when I was younger. I’ll never forget the food! They do such things with fish!”

Kane smiled at her shy enthusiasm. The girl did love her fish. “Well, I’d offer to buy your lunch, but I seem to be a little dry of funds at the moment.”

Lena’s own smile widened. “I’ll buy for you then. First tavern we see, as soon as we’re off this ship!” She made a thoughtful face. “Should we find a place to watch the revels? When do you suppose they start?”

Kane made no effort to hide his surprise. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be interested in the Midsummer revels. Doesn’t all that decadence violate white mage philosophy?”

“I’m not suggesting we participate, by any means, but I _would_ like to see them.” Her blush deepened. “Do you think… Do you think Jack will come?”

Kane recalled the mage’s sharp words to him in the hold, and he felt his smile morph into something manic as he plotted his revenge. _Staying in the hold, are you? We’ll see._ “I don’t know. I suppose you could always _ask_ him.”

Shipman moved in to stand at the railing between them, looking out at the nearest buildings with a dubious sneer. “I don’t think we want to eat at any of these places.”

For the first time, Kane looked properly at the harbor district. Melmond’s harbor appeared to have been built over swampland. There was no real shoreline, only a muddy marsh. The docks extended far out into the bay, with wooden walkways leading from them into the city. He didn’t see a single structure that looked to be in good shape; in fact, many seemed as if they were decaying. He saw more than one collapsed roof, and the air smelled strongly of rotten fish.

“I wonder if that’s from the Rot I’ve heard so much about,” Lena said.

“It was, the first time around,” Kane’s father said, startling all three of them with his sudden appearance. He stood just behind them, buckling on a sword belt that held a sword Kane had never seen before, of poorer make than the one he normally carried.

Before Kane could ask about it, Shipman said, “The first time? You mean they’ve been like that for more than twenty years? What kind of run-down place is this?”

Lord Redden gave the boy a flat stare. “This is my homeland you’re talking about.” He glanced briefly at Lena before he turned to Kane, sighing as he spoke, as if every word was a chore. “There’s some kind of blockade at the end of the docks. The captain and I are going to check it out. Stay aboard until we get back.”

“Yes, sir,” Kane said, but his father was walking away before the words were out of Kane’s mouth.

“Oh, my,” Lena muttered as Redden left them.

Kane huffed out a frustrated breath. “I don’t suppose you know what has him so… so…”

“Irritable?” Lena supplied.

“Not the word I was reaching for.”

Lena patted his shoulder, her sidelong glance saying that she knew which word he was reaching for and wouldn’t repeat it. She sighed and said, “No, I’m sorry. Only that he doesn’t want to be here.”

“Coming to Melmond was _his_ idea!”

She shook her head. “I know. I can feel that it’s hard for him. Some painful memories, I think. But that’s as much as I can figure out.”

Kane nodded. He knew little of his father’s past, only that he’d grown up here, that he’d had a brother who died here.

“Do you think he was mad at me for saying it was run-down?” asked Shipman, shoulders slumped in dejection.

Lena pulled him in for a hug. “He’s not mad at you.”

The three of them were quiet as they looked out at Melmond once more. The city seemed lively enough, for all that it appeared worn. People moved along the wooden walkways, visiting the shops and street vendors with a hurry to their steps as if there wasn’t enough time in the day. _Like they’re all too busy to fix the damage,_ Kane thought. “I understand it wasn’t always like this,” he said. “There’s supposed to be some great culture in this city. And the queen is from here, you know.”

“Really?” said Shipman. “How’d she end up as queen?”

“Politics, I guess,” Kane said. “Her father was Lord of Melmond at the time. It’s not as if she and I ever chat over tea. She’s never liked me much.”

“That’s not so,” Lena said gently. “You just remind her of someone.”

Kane frowned. “Who?”

Lena shrugged. “I’m not a mind reader. But she can’t look at you without remembering this other person, and that bothers her.”

Kane frowned, thinking. He knew even less about the queen’s past than he did his father’s. He spent several minutes conjuring up every memory he could of his interactions with Queen Jayne, trying to examine them from this new angle. Shipman grew fidgety after a time and wandered off, leaving him and Lena alone, but they didn’t talk, only stood at the railing as he gazed absently at the city and she looked down at the murky, brown water of the harbor.

They were still there when Kane’s father returned, scowling as he came up the gangplank. “What’d you find?” Kane asked him.

“A registrar,” said Redden. “It seems the Rot’s driven people from the countryside into the city. The crowding’s led to a rise in crime. Leiden’s decided everyone within the city’s walls has to carry identification papers.”

“Does that help?” Kane asked, scoffing. “Did the criminals all sort of line up to report their names?”

“I never said Leiden was a clever man, but that’s the law here.”

“Sounds painless enough,” said Lena, her smile wavering in the face of Lord Redden’s mood. “Will it take long?”

Redden turned tired eyes to the girl, an expression Kane knew meant his father was in no mood for an argument. “No time at all for you,” he said in a steely tone. “You’re not leaving this ship.”

“I-I’m not?” Lena stuttered. “But I wanted to see the city!”

“You’re not. We don’t know enough about this plague they have here. It’s supposed to be particularly deadly to white mages.”

Lena opened her mouth to say something else, but closed it again. Her meek expression reminded Kane so much of a kicked puppy that he spoke out for her. “Father, Jack spent his entire spring in Melmond before he came to Cornelia. He said he never saw any plague in all that time. You and I both know that plague nonsense is a cover for something else, just like we saw in Elfheim.”

Redden glared at him. “That doesn’t change the fact that there are no white mages left alive here. It’s a bad time to be a mage in Melmond, black or white.”

“What’s the word on red mages, then?” Kane asked.

Redden made a noise that was almost a growl. “We’re trying not to attract undue attention. The last thing we need is the interest we’d draw by announcing a white mage at the registrar.”

“Who says we need to tell anyone what she is?”

Lena laid a hand on Kane’s arm, face serene as she tried to calm both men. “Lord Redden, surely you know my oath requires me to at least investigate this plague while I’m here?”

“You’ll get your chance,” he said impatiently. “But not today, and not in the city. I need to check a few things here while the captain resupplies the ship, but then we’re sailing out again. A few hours, at most.”

“But if we’re only here for a few hours, couldn’t I at least walk about the harbor district?” Lena said. “Kane and I-”

“No,” Redden snapped sharply. “Stay put. We don’t have time for trouble.”

Her hand was still on his arm, and Kane felt her fingers twitch. She was making a face he’d seen Sarah make before, her mouth set in a line, her eyes ever so slightly narrowed. Unless he was mistaken, the white mage was more hurt than she would let show. Therefore, he was surprised when her only response was, in a level voice, to agree with his father. “That seems wise.”

Kane stared at her, but she gave the slightest shake of her head.

“Good,” said Redden. “Let’s go, son.”

“But,” Kane began, but his unformed protest died when Lena withdrew her hand and turned her back on them to look over the railing once more.

He followed as his father fell in step with Gabbiani, the two of them talking as they walked up the dock. Gus and Maxell walked with them, the two largest members of the crew both carrying cudgels, acting as bodyguards for the shorter captain. The dock ended in a short wooden gate, in front of which a man at a table waited with a pile of papers, the registrar his father had mentioned. Orin and Shipman were already there, speaking to the man. When they received their papers and stepped aside, the captain and the two huge pirates approached the table. It was then, when no one else was listening, that Kane addressed his father. “You didn’t have to speak to her that way!” he said, fists clenched at his sides.

“In what way?” Redden asked. He seemed confused by the question, and that infuriated Kane further.

“You were cruel to her! She was looking forward to seeing the city. You’ve hurt her feelings!”

“Oh, for Titan’s sake!” Redden said, sighing. “We’ve talked about this, son. She doesn’t _have_ feelings. I know she looks convincing, but you’re merely projecting-”

“That’s not true!”

Redden closed his eyes, speaking with the level patience of a man addressing a small child, or a particularly thick student. “It is. It was true of Lady Aliana, though you don’t remember her well enough to believe me. It was true of Lord Minwu before her. That man didn’t even feel hunger; he would have starved to death if Cascius’s father hadn’t fed him on a schedule. The Cornelian archives are full of stories like that, Kane. I’ve read them. In three hundred years of records, no soul reader has ever had feelings of her own.” He looked at Kane then, reaching out to squeeze his son’s shoulder, and his eyes betrayed a weariness Kane hadn’t seen beneath his father’s anger earlier. “Now, we have a job to do, people we need to speak to, before we can get to the bottom of what’s happening here. The sooner we sort it out, the sooner we can all go home again.”

Kane looked back at the _Sahagin Prince_ , at the lonely figure in white who stood forlornly at the ship’s railing looking down at the water, and he shook his father’s hand off. “Go, then. I’m staying with her.”

He heard Redden call his name as he walked away, but the older man didn’t follow him. Kane didn’t look back until he’d reached the ship. He could see his father in his red cloak at the registrar’s table, but then the registrar stood, offering him some papers, and he went through the wooden gate with Orin and Shipman, glancing back only once, and only briefly, before he proceeded into town.

“Kane?” Lena waited for him at the top of the gangplank, concern in her eyes. “I hope I didn’t cause problems between you and your father.”

“He was out of line,” Kane said, stepping up the wide board toward her. “I’m sorry he spoke to you that way.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” she said, looking down at her feet. “He has a lot on his mind right now.”

_So quick to forgive,_ Kane thought, shaking his head. “Yes, he does. But do you know what’s on my mind right now?” Lena looked at him expectantly but said nothing. “Lunch,” he said. “You promised me lunch.”

“Oh? But we promised your father I’d stay on the ship.”

“Did you promise such a thing? I didn’t hear it. I only heard you agree with him when he said it was a good idea. That’s not a promise. Not like the one you made to me. You keep your promises, don’t you?”

Lena’s eyes widened. “B-but…” she stuttered. “But you heard what he said! It’s not safe for white mages!”

“So leave the robe,” Kane said.

She looked down at her white sleeve in confusion, as though the garment had barked at her and she didn’t know what to think of it.

Kane laughed. He placed a hand on each of her shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Lena, it’s broad daylight! No one here knows you’re a white mage, and you’ll have me to guard you. Don’t you trust me? Let’s just grab a meal or something and head right back. We’ll be gone all of an hour.”

She blushed, ducking her head as a slow smile spread over her face. When she spoke, her voice was like a small silver bell. “Can we still invite Jack?”

Kane grinned. “Leave Jack to me.”

* * *

Jack sat in the floor of the hold, knees pulled up, letting his head rest against the edge of the crate behind him. He could sense the rats inside it - only six he’d managed to recapture; a seventh slept peacefully behind a stack of boxes across from him, but he lacked the energy to get up and retrieve it.

Catching the rats took longer without Lena, but he’d been too embarrassed after his display that morning to ask for her help. How many hours had he been at it now? Reading the aether for long periods of time was always exhausting, but it had been harder while he was also struggling to keep the ice down. Though he’d drawn power from each rat he found, he hadn’t begun to feel normal again until the fourth one.

Drawing from the rats wasn’t as effective as drawing off of a person. The aether of a rat was so similar to the raw aether that it took considerably more of them to fill the hollow, and the effect was short-lived. The trick had made the past several days aboard the ship bearable, and had allowed him to spend time among his friends without keeping constant guard against his emotions. It wasn’t until Thad had released the rats that Jack realized how much he’d come to rely on them in such a short time. _I’ll be down here for the rest of my life,_ Jack thought, bumping his head repeatedly against the crate.

He heard heavy footsteps overhead, the sounds of someone running toward the hold, and Kane’s glowing yellow aura appeared at the top of the stairs. “Jack!” the guardsman called. “I need you! You have to come out here!”

Jack didn’t bother to move. “We’ve talked about this,” he said. “I’m staying down-”

“Jack, it’s Lena! She’s gone!”

“Gone? What do you mean, ‘gone’?”

“Father told her to stay on the ship, but, well, she really wanted to see the revels, and when my back was turned, she… well, she left!”

“Alone?” Jack was on his feet before the guardsman finished speaking. “How could you let this happen?”

“Hey, you weren’t exactly up here keeping an eye on her! I never expected her to head off on her own! It’s completely unlike her! Father’s going to kill me if he finds out! Can you follow her aether trail?”

“Of course I can!” Jack grumbled, grabbing his staff from where he’d left it beside the stairs and heading up.

“Great!” Kane said, as they reached the middle deck together. “You’ll have to leave the coat, though. Father said it was dangerous for mages in the city right now. The coat might attract attention.”

Jack nodded, seeing the sense of it, and shrugged out of the leather coat, tossing it toward the corner that held the hammock where he slept. “Fine,” he said, adjusting the cuffs of the gray, long-sleeved shirt he wore underneath.

“The staff, too,” Kane said. “Can you manage without it?”

Jack looked down at the staff he carried, tentatively drawing his mind away from it. The aether held, but he could feel the hollow stirring in his soul. “Not for long. Let’s hope she hasn’t gone far.”

“That won’t do,” Kane said, frowning. “What if you had another magic weapon to carry around? Like, a magic sword, perhaps?”

Jack cocked his head. “Where are we going to find something like that?”

With his usual cocky grin, Kane gestured toward another hammock nearby, the place where Lord Redden slept, and Jack saw Redden’s sword nestled atop a pile of the bard’s other things. “You saw the way he used it against Cole and Felder. It’s a focus object, right? Will it work?” said Kane.

Jack picked up the weapon and looked at it through his aether sight. There were indeed focus spells woven into the blade, vague and basic, not tied to any particular element, not even as strong as the spells on the dagger he had discarded before they left Elfheim, but still, they might be enough to hold him over until he could get back to the rats. “I think I can use this,” he said, nodding. He nearly dropped the sword as he belted it on, his left hand with its missing fingers fumbling with the weight of the blade as he tried to position it on his left hip, but he got it on his second try. “Let’s go.”

It took nearly all of his concentration to read the aether without drawing on it, without triggering a corona, but Lena’s blue aura shown clear amidst the blur of colors around the dock. _Recent,_ he thought. _Maybe she’s still close._ He was so focused on finding her that he didn’t see the man at the table until Kane grabbed his arm to stop him from walking right past.

“Hold on there, young sir. You’ll need papers,” the man said, smiling. He was an older gentleman, wrinkled and sun-spotted, with a fringe of white hair around a bald spot, a beak of a nose, and not an ounce of fat on him. He readied a quill pen over a scroll in front of him. “Your names, please?”

Jack looked down at the paper. It appeared to be a list of people who had come this way recently. He saw in a clear script at the bottom, “Lena Mateus, 17, servant”.

“Kane Carmine,” Kane said, pulling Jack in closer to the table. “And this is my brother, Jack Carmine.”

The old man pursed his lips. “Carmine, is it? Any relation to the West Hills’ Carmines?”

“Never heard of them,” Kane said. “Jack?”

Jack shook his head.

“No matter, no matter. I’m sure it’s a common enough name. What are your ages?”

“Eighteen,” Kane said.

The man looked at Jack, squinting.

Kane kicked Jack’s ankle, prompting him to speak. “Twenty,” Jack said.

“And what shall I note down as your occupations?”

“Soldier and scholar,” Kane said, pointing first at himself and then at Jack.

“Very well. It will only take me a moment to write these up.”

Jack pulled Kane back a few steps, watching to see if the man appeared to be listening. He waited, to be sure, but the old man seemed engrossed in his calligraphy. Eventually, Jack whispered, “Brother?”

Kane smirked. “I owe you my life. The least I can do is give you a real name. I didn’t like to think of you putting that other one in writing.”

_Redden did say he’d choose for me,_ Jack thought, remembering the fireside conversation weeks ago that had all but slipped his mind in the aftermath of the events that followed. Truthfully, he’d given no thought at all to choosing a name for himself. “Thank you,” he said. “It’s a good name.”

The guardsman scoffed, punching him in the shoulder. “Damn right, it is. Mind you, these papers are the biggest joke I ever heard. Did you hear the man? Names and ages? That’s all it takes?”

“I still don’t understand what they’re for,” Jack said.

“Just something the local lord’s come up with to solve a recent criminal problem, from what I understand. Couldn’t possibly work, and I’m speaking from my experience as a city guard.”

Jack nodded, thinking quietly to himself about Lena running loose in a city with a known “criminal problem.”

“Young sirs? Your papers,” the old man said.

Papers in hand, Jack stepped swiftly past the table. “Come on, before I lose the trail,” he said.

“Are you likely to?” Kane asked, seeming more worried than he had before. “I thought it would last a few hours?”

“It will,” Jack said, passing through the short wooden gate that cut off the docks from the rest of the city, focusing on what he could see of Lena’s aura. “But so will the auras of every other person in Melmond. If I don’t follow Lena’s while it’s fresh, I’ll never find it under all these others.”

“Gods!” Kane said. “I had no idea! I never would have-” He stopped speaking, but Jack didn’t think much of it, concentrating on the aether, gripping the hilt of the sword at his waist to help him maintain control.

Away from the docks, Lena’s aura was harder to track. Melmond was a busy city, particularly so near the harbor. The blue trail Jack followed was crisscrossed by so many others that if he hadn’t known her well, he would have lost it already. They’d only gone two streets over when they reached a market, and Lena’s aura was thick about the place. “She must have stopped here,” Jack said near a stall selling masks for the revels. He surveyed the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of her red hair.

Kane, too, seemed to be searching, eyes darting back and forth. “Where _is_ that girl?” He made a frustrated sound deep in his throat. “Have you noticed the white mages seem to be in danger everywhere we go?”

“Of course they are,” Jack said. “All their guards are gone.”

“What guards?” Kane asked.

Jack shrugged. “It’s in the black mage’s Oath. ‘To build, to guide, to guard’. They’re who we guard. If all the black mages have been driven out, of course the white mages suffer.”

Kane stared at him, face blank.

“What?” Jack asked.

“Nothing. I just feel like I understand you a little better now.”

Jack rolled his eyes at the guardsman, then he closed them, relying solely on his aether sight as he scanned the colored auras of the people in the crowd, until he found the point of pale blue light that belonged to her. “There she is,” he said, pushing through the press of people to reach her as Kane followed him.

* * *

Sometimes, Lena really couldn't bear the crowds: the emotions flowed over her like a swift river, sweeping her along no matter how she struggled against it. She had days where she wanted nothing more than to hide in her room and never see or speak to anyone, to only feel what she herself was feeling.

But today was not one of those days. A week on the ship, on the rough waves and salt breeze of the open ocean, had cleared her mind as well as a long swim could. Today, she felt the emotions of the people of Melmond as they prepared for their favorite holiday, and all seemed bright and wonderful. It was easier for her to visit a crowded market on a day like this, when the mood was festive. Like a beautiful song being sung by dozens of voices: too loud, it hurt, but she couldn’t stop listening to it.  

_Like home,_ she thought. She’d been not quite Thad’s age, little more than a child, when she left it, yet she remembered it like this. There weren’t as many people in Onlac, but most of them were happy. Life there revolved around the boats and the day’s catch, music and dancing in her auntie’s tavern of an evening. It was almost like every day was a festival day.

_Why can't cities be like that?_ she thought, caught up in the colors, the smells, enjoying the feeling, for once, of being part of the crowd. She passed a stall selling masks made of fabric and feathers in every color of the rainbow, some small, only to cover the eyes, others large enough to go over her whole head, shaped like the heads of animals and characters from children’s stories. She spent several minutes admiring them before she moved on.

The streets were muddy away from the docks once she left the wooden walkways behind, and she saw that many of Melmond’s citizens wore tall wooden clogs over their normal shoes. She found a shop that sold them, but recoiled from the price written on the sign in the window and decided she would have to make do with watching her step.

She stopped near a man selling fried shrimp, and her stomach rumbled. “How much?” she asked.

“Three for a copper, miss.”

“Is Cornelian money alright?”

The man assured her it was, so she bought six.

She took the small snack in its folded paper cone to the stoop of a building nearby, and she sat on the steps and watched the people as she ate. Her mind began to wander, picking up hints of their lives: this one had a new baby at home, and this one wasn’t looking forward to some task or other. _Don’t start that,_ she told herself, tightening the hold on her senses to slow the emotions accumulating in her mind so that she could enjoy her outing as long as possible.

She heard someone call her name, and when she saw Kane and Jack approaching, she stood to greet them, smiling. “Jack! You came! I wasn’t sure you would.”

The mage stopped, surprise in his eyes. “You… you were expecting us to follow you?”

“Of course I was! That was the idea.”

Kane sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Lena, I may not have been entirely truthful in my quest to get him off the ship.”

Jack slowly turned his head toward Kane, one eyebrow raised as he glared severely. “You _lied_ to me?”

Kane’s shoulders slumped. “I told her to go ahead of us. I knew if you thought I’d lost her, you’d track her down.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I might not be able to follow her aura trail in a city this size?” Jack said, his voice a low hiss as he looked about to be sure no one else was listening.

“I know that now!” Kane said, shrugging. “We just wanted to have a bit of fun.”

“And I wanted to stay on the ship!”

“Please don’t fight!” Lena said. She laid a hand on Jack’s arms, crossed in front of his chest. “We can return to the ship if you don’t want to be here. I know you’re uncomfortable around people.”

Kane began to argue, but Lena was focused on Jack. He looked down at her, blue eyes peering over his gray scarf, a lighter gray than that of the shirt he wore. He was blushing. He seemed smaller without his coat, less imposing without the line of it accentuating his considerable height, noticeably slimmer than Kane. “My lady,” he said, and even his voice seemed smaller than she was used to it being. “I would have come if you had asked me.”

Her heart fluttered.

“Great! Let’s find a place to eat. I’m starving,” said Kane, striding off.

Jack sighed, wordlessly offering her his arm, and the two of them followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _11/4/16: It’s November and for some of you that means NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month, is underway, but I’m going to follow the example of author Ursula Vernon and try NaNoFiMo instead: National Novel Finishing Month. Instead of writing 50k words on a new story, I’m going to try for 50k words on THIS ONE. Because come Christmas, I’ll have been working on it for a year and, dear holy Bahamut, it’s not done yet. You know, when I started this thing, I thought I’d have it knocked out by April…_   
>  _Anyway, do I think 50k more words is going to finish this thing off? I have no earthly idea. Sometimes, it feels like I’ll be writing it forever. I have an outline, I know what happens next, but the chapters just get longer and longer._   
>  _It’s. Just. So. Long._


	34. Illusionary World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Illusionary World from Final Fantasy IV. Click[here](https://youtu.be/Xq-ds_xRVTo) for the original or [here](https://youtu.be/BSy_Z6K12z0) for the version from the gorgeous “Celtic Moon” album. The whole album is worth your time if you love the music from FF IV (and who doesn’t?)._

_Melmond Manor, Twenty-five Years Ago_

Redden rushed after his brother through the halls, buttoning his wrinkled suit jacket as he went. Cid, who had trained with the guards that morning and was already cleaned up and properly dressed, hurried on with no regard for Redden’s struggles. “Could you slow down?” said Redden. “I’ve hardly rolled out of bed!”

“The meeting’s already started,” Cid said.

“I fail to see how that should matter,” Redden grumbled, but not loudly enough that Cid could hear it. Cid took their so-called duties far too seriously, a real feat, considering no one had ever been able to spell out to Redden’s satisfaction just what those duties were supposed to entail.

He’d wrestled his jacket into some semblance of order by the time they reached Lord Westen’s office where, as Cid had told him, the meeting of the Lords’ Council was already underway. No one seated at the long table so much as glanced at them when they entered and took their usual seats on the bench beside the door. A small mercy, Redden thought when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror against the far wall and saw the state of his hair, white-streaked red clumps spiking up everywhere.  

The lords were arguing, but Redden didn’t listen, more focused on running his hands through his hair, checking his appearance in the mirror. It was purely for appearances that he and Cid were there at all, twin sons of noble birth allegedly foretold by one of Melmond’s oldest prophecies. They’d been sitting in on these meetings for as long as Redden could remember, but were never permitted to speak. He’d stopped listening years ago.

It surprised him then, when Lord Westen, standing at the head of the table, angrily swept his arm over it, scattering papers. “Plant farther north?” he shouted at the young Lord Quincey, who had taken up his father’s post only that spring. “Plant farther north? Is that all you have to offer? We’ve barely enough food to see us through the winter! What happens next year if the north fields rot out from under us as the south fields have done?”

The Rot. That was what the commoners called it, a blight on the countryside that turned the land into a festering mire. Redden had talked to people who had lost their lands and their livelihoods, who were now forced to take whatever work they could find around town. Nothing survived in the Rot, no plants, no animals, not even the insects that thrived in the stretches of swamp that surrounded much of the city. Wherever the Rot took hold, the air became stale, the water undrinkable.

Quincey stood, hands braced on the table as he shouted back. “What would you have me say? We’ve no cure for this Rot, and no way to stop its spread!”

The young man’s words echoed through the small room. No one spoke as Quincey and Westen glared each other down. Finally, the younger lord sighed, deflating somewhat as common decency overtook his youthful indignation and he resumed his seat.

Westen stared down at the empty tabletop. Redden could see the despair in his bearing and that frightened him. Westen was a hard man; Redden had never seen him so defeated.

A voice spoke into that despair, the gruff rumble of the old white mage at the opposite end of the table, soft and quiet, but it rang out in the silence. “We know where it comes from.”

Father Bram, the representative of Titan’s Cathedral in the lower town, rarely spoke in these meetings. The hook-nosed priest had come to white magic later in life. Now more than eighty years old, he still resembled the farmer he’d been in his youth, stocky of frame and strong of demeanor, often seeming out of place among these rich lords.  

Westen took a calming breath before he addressed the older man. “We do. For all the good it does us.”

 _We found the Underworld,_ the man had said all those months ago. Redden’s heart beat faster at the memory of that day. Men had gone to the south cape since then, investigating the disturbance in the mine; only a few came back. The stories they told of unnatural creatures, dead things rising to kill the living, beggared belief. It couldn’t be coincidence that the Rot had started in the south.

“It may yet do us some good,” Bram said. “I believe this calamity, this Rot, can be Cured.”

The assembled lords muttered. Westen raised a hand for silence. “Your people have tried. Father Ladimer himself told me it would require more white magic than your entire cathedral could muster.”

“Father Ladimer is my superior and I owe him every respect, but his expertise lies in the healing of men. Mine is in the healing of the earth. And while it is true that I lack the power to Cure the entire countryside, I believe I have enough power to cut this thing off at the source. If I can reach it, that is.”

The lords did more than mutter this time, speaking loudly about the impossibility of Bram’s plan. “You’ll never make it that far,” one said.

“It’s suicide,” said another.

Lord Hornwood, a thin man in his middle years, said, “The last time we sent men to that cave, none of them returned. Not one, out of fifty. How many do you propose we send as your escort? A whole squadron?”

“No,” said the white mage. “I only propose you send your best.”

Again, no one spoke. Around the table, men shifted in their seats, avoiding eye contact with one another. It seemed none wanted to be the first to send their best warriors to their deaths.

Cid broke the silence, breaking protocol as he did so, speaking in the council meeting where he was not permitted to speak, standing before the lords where he was not permitted to stand. “I’ll go,” he said.

Every eye turned to the two young Carmines. It didn’t matter that only Cid had spoken; the twins had always been taken as one unit. Redden thought he could tell by their expressions - some frightened, some angry - which of the lords believed in the prophecy and which put as much stock in it as Redden himself did. Only Westen said anything, a low whisper that carried in the small office. “Out of the question.”

Cid shook his head, undeterred. “We’re here for a reason, aren’t we? What if this is it?”

Redden sighed, coming to his feet. It didn’t matter whether he believed in the prophecy or not: he would always stand beside his brother.

* * *

_Melmond Harbor Market, Present Day_

The crowd bothered Jack at first. Since he’d begun using dark magic, he saw auras all the time, whether his aether sight was active or not. This was the most people he’d seen in one place since then, the streets here fuller than those of Elfheim due to the impending holiday, a riot of souls in their myriad colors, but he soon grew used to it. As he browsed the market with Lena and Kane, the colors faded into the background and Jack began to relax a little.

For all his talk of starving, Kane slowed as they walked past the vendors’ stalls, seeming intrigued by the festival decorations they sold. Lena, too, smiled and laughed as though delighted. They listened to a man playing the pipes, and Jack threw a coin in his hat. Lena bought a pastry and split it with Kane; she offered some to Jack, but he declined, feeling too exposed here to remove his scarf. They stopped in front of the mask vendor that Jack knew Lena had lingered over before he and Kane found her, and Kane joked about which masks would suit them.

“The heron for you, to go with your scrawny legs?” the guardsman suggested.

“Too bad they don’t have any large enough for _your_ head,” said Jack.

Lena chuckled, hiding her smile behind one delicate hand. “It’s a shame they’re so expensive,” she said, tracing a finger longingly over one of the smaller ones, black lace with a spray of green feathers on one side.

He watched her admiring it for a long beat, screwing up his courage before he said, “I could buy it for you.”

She blushed prettily. “Oh! No, th-that’s not… You don’t have to do that. I won’t get a chance to wear it. Lord Redden said we weren’t staying…”

“I want to,” he said.

The vendor smiled at the exchange. “Eight gil for that one.”

Kane scowled as Jack paid the man. “Is that _my_ money you’re spending?”

“Was,” Jack said. “Let’s go eat. I know a place.”

They soon left the market behind, Jack taking the lead as they left the harbor district. They passed shops and houses decorated with flags and banners, musicians performing on street corners, children already wearing their masks as they ran about. The quality of the buildings improved the farther into the city they went, but the streets remained muddy throughout, and in some places they had to make wide detours to get around the mud. The locals paid it no mind, walking right through with their wooden shoes. Jack would have as well, in his boots, but avoided the mess for the sake of Lena’s sandaled feet.

“How much farther?” Kane asked, mopping his brow with the back of one hand.

“Not far. The next street over,” Jack said, noticing how much his friend was sweating. He looked down at Lena on his arm, smiling as she watched a pair of children playing in the mud, and he noticed she, too, appeared flushed from the heat. Jack didn’t feel it, and that worried him. He wrapped his senses around Lord Redden’s sword, gripping the weak focus spells in his mind.

Lena stumbled beside him, pulling his attention back to the street. “I’m sorry, my lady. Was I going too fast?”

“No,” she said quietly. “There’s a man. I think he’s following us.”

“I think you’re right,” Kane said, darting glances behind them.

Jack threw a quick look over his shoulder, saw the burnt orange aura of the man Lena was talking about, matching their pace from a distance. “Can you read his intentions?” he asked her.

Lena gripped his arm a little tighter, closing her eyes as she walked, face pinched in concentration. “He’s only curious. Very curious. He doesn’t seem to mean us any harm, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t planning to rob us.”

Jack nodded, casting his senses back to keep track of the man who followed them. _Why?_ he wondered. Robbery seemed an unlikely motive. Neither their clothes nor their possessions would have marked them as rich travelers. He and Kane were both armed; they’d passed plenty of people who were not, who would be far more promising prospects for a thief. _Did he realize we’re mages?_ Had someone overheard him telling Kane about tracking Lena’s aura? Had Lena done something to attract attention before he found her? He wouldn’t risk her, not again, not here. “Kane, I hate delay your lunch, but we’re going to take the long way.”

“You think we can lose him?” the guardsman asked.

“Only one way to find out.”

They turned a corner. Sure enough, the man turned after them, and again at the next street.

“He’s definitely following us,” Lena said, with a tremble in her voice. “He’s planning something. Jack, I don’t like this.”

“Alright,” he said, gently pulling her hand from his arm and gripping it tightly in his own. “Kane, on my signal, we run.”

The guardsman nodded, hand resting lightly on his sword hilt. “Ready when you are.”

Jack looked up the street, planning their route. The largest tavern in Melmond lay in that direction; if they were lucky, perhaps their follower would assume they were heading there. As he considered this, his hold on the focus spells wavered and a chill crept up his back as the ice rose. Beside him, Lena shivered, and the solution came to him like an onrushing tide. He closed his eyes, calling up his aether sight as he did so, aiming all of his attention at the orange aura he’d seen before, and he drew.

There was a sudden commotion behind them, a man crying out in pain, the voices of concerned passers-by. “Now,” Jack said, pulling Lena into the nearest alley. He stopped only briefly to be sure Kane was still with them, and then they ran.

* * *

In a grimy, dimly-lit tavern not far from the docks, Thad squinted at the paper the registrar had given him. It was very official-looking, all signed and dated, with a little seal at the bottom. He liked the curvy writing; he wondered, if he practiced, if he might learn to write like that. He wondered how long it would take. He traced his finger over the swooping T at the beginning of his name…

...which, according to the paper, was Thancred Locke.

“Put it away, young master Locke,” Orin said from across the table.

“Why do we have fake names?” he whispered, folding the paper and slipping it into his pocket. “I mean, I get why you and Redden have fake names, but why me?”

“Who is this Redden you speak of?” Orin said, smiling.  

Thad rolled his eyes. Redden - or whoever he was supposed to be - had left them once they entered the city together, off to speak with his contacts in the market district; it sometimes seemed to Thad that the man had “contacts” everywhere he went. Even Orin had alluded to the existence of his own “friends” in Melmond that would require a visit before he and Thad returned to the ship. “I’m serious! It’s not like-” He stopped talking as a serving girl brought their drinks and waited for her to leave before he spoke again. “It’s not like anyone here knows _my_ name. I’m a nobody!”

Orin nodded. “And you shall remain a nobody, even if Thancred Locke finds himself at the center of attention.” The monk winked at him, sipping his drink.

“I know how to keep out of trouble! I’m not stupid!” Thad picked up his own mug and sniffed it. Watered wine. It smelled alright. He took a sip but then spit the weak drink back into the cup again, setting it aside with a grimace. _A whole city having a festival and we come to the cheapest dockside tavern we can find,_ he thought. It was a shoddy building, with gaps between the clapboards. All of the tables were tall but half of them didn’t have stools. Most of the patrons didn’t seem to mind, standing about as they drank. This was not a place for sitting around over a quiet drink. This was a place for a quick pint and a shady deal. Thad hadn’t seen the inside of this sort of tavern since he’d left his father. His pappy wouldn’t have been caught dead in a place like this. “Why are we here?” he asked, letting his feet swing idly beneath his tall stool.

Orin chuckled. “An excellent question. I am most glad you have asked it. The answer lies in your identification papers.”

Thad cocked his head. “The fake ones?”

The old man nodded. “The names are false, of course, but when the registrar asked if you had an occupation, what did we tell him?”

“That I was your apprentice?”

“Indeed.” The monk took another long sip of his cheap wine then set the cup down on the table. “You have a number of disreputable skills, young master Locke. Gollor and I spoke at length about the tasks he set you to do around Elfheim castle. Have I ever told you that I, too, was a thief in my younger days?”

“You mentioned it,” Thad said, holding his own cup without drinking it just to be doing something with his hands. “You said you stopped when the old king hired you.”

“Yes, that is so. King Fuller was a dear friend.” Orin smiled a small smile, as though at a fond memory, then sighed, shaking his head before he went on. “But did you ever wonder what use a king would have had for a known thief in his employ?”

“I… No?”

The monk grinned a wicked grin. “Then it is high time you learned.”

* * *

The three of them came to a residential area, less crowded than the business district. Lena was glad of that. She walked with her soul sight up now, watching for the man who had followed them, but they seemed to have left him behind. Kane, too, was wary, checking often over his shoulder, but Jack didn’t seem worried at all. She could almost read him through her soul sight, a strange mixture of relief and guilt and satisfaction that made no sense to her given the circumstances. What did he have to feel guilty about? And why should he simultaneously be pleased about it?

 _Honestly, I wish I could read minds,_ she thought. _Or not sense any emotions at all. It’s like only having one half of a picture._

They’d gone down several streets, taking odd turns and doubling back sometimes to be sure their mysterious follower was indeed no longer with them, so Lena was quite lost by the time they turned a corner onto the strangest street she could have imagined.

“Well, that’s… different…” Kane said, stopping in amazement.

“Oh!” Lena gasped. The house that stood at the end of the street was grand, old and stately, with a wide covered porch in front, and with an iron fence around it, though the gate stood open. But the thing that drew the eye was the color. It was painted in vibrant shades of purple and yellow and green.

“That looks like something Refial would wear,” said Kane.

Jack chuckled. “I knew someone once who would have loved it.” Lena felt his fondness for that person - it lingered like a perfume in the air as he gazed at the house ahead of them, but then he shook his head and the emotion dispersed like smoke as he led them forward again.

Lena looked at the other houses as they walked up the street. Many of them were painted in other unusual colors, blues and reds and pinks, but none were quite as bright or as jarring as the large house at the end. It wasn’t until Jack led them through the black iron gate that Lena realized that was where they were going. “Jack, I thought we were going to find lunch?” she said.

“I happen to know the cook here,” he said.

She could feel him laughing - not real laughter, not out loud, but he gave off an emotion that she felt as a low rumble in her chest. It was a vague sensation. She felt more emotion from Kane, though he walked several paces behind them and to one side, than she felt from Jack. Kane was confused and hungry, impatient for the meal, but entertained and curious enough over this strange house to go along with whatever Jack was planning.  

They walked up the broad steps to the huge front door and Jack rapped the heavy knocker three times. When the door finally opened, they were met by a short, wrinkled woman, with dark eyes and a smile full of teeth that seemed too large for her mouth. “Master Jack!” she said, pulling him in for a rough hug that nearly knocked him over and made Lena squeak as his arm was pulled so quickly away.

“Liza,” he said, straightening again. “Is Seward in?”

“Yes, yes,” the woman said. “He’s in his study. He’ll be so pleased you’re back!”

“Thank you. We’ll show ourselves in.”

“I hope you’ll be staying for lunch!” the woman called after them as they crossed the large entryway and went through a door at their left. Lena felt Kane’s pleasure at the words.

They passed through a sitting room with gleaming wood floors and dark red walls, full of heavy-looking furniture - chairs and side tables with thick, carved legs - then turned down a hallway hung with portraits, some of them clearly quite old. They passed two maids as they went, one with a broom and one with a duster; both stopped their tasks to curtsy as Jack went by.

At last, they came to a huge wooden door, carved with an image of the god Titan creating a mountain with his bare hands. Jack pushed it open without knocking, leading Lena with him as he stepped inside.

The room seemed much like a mage’s workshop. There were the usual overcrowded bookshelves and tables strewn with books and papers, but she saw no potion-making supplies. Where Lena would have expected to see the herbs and vials, there were instead a pair of workbenches covered in bits of wood and metal and a number of tools that looked like something she would have found in her uncle’s forge only much smaller. _A machinist’s tools,_ she thought. The area near the large window that took up most of one wall was occupied by a sizable telescope.    

Beside the telescope, a man napped in an overstuffed chair, with a book open in his lap and his mouth open as he snored. He was plump, but as he wore a rumpled shirt that would easily have fit a man twice his size, Lena thought that perhaps he was not as plump as he had once been. Still, when Jack crept nearer the chair and barked out, “Seward!” the man started awake and leaped to his feet with all the speed of a man several stone lighter, and perhaps twenty years younger.  

“What’s that?” the man asked blearily as he peered about the room. He blinked when he caught sight of his guests, and a slow smile spread over his round face. “My lord! You're back!”

Kane laughed. “Lord?”

Jack ducked his head in what Lena assumed was embarrassment, though he gave off nothing. “Lena, Kane, this is Lord Unne. I worked for him when I stayed in Melmond,” he said.

The portly man nodded, reaching out for Lena’s hand and kissing it in a courtly fashion. “Call me Seward.” He offered a little bow to Kane and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

“Likewise,” said Kane. He threw Jack a grin over Lena’s head. “Since when are you lord of anything?”

Jack cleared his throat, but before he could speak, Seward said, “Only our little joke, I’m afraid. That was once the proper form of address for a mage, you know, back in the Leifenish empire.”

“Ah,” Kane said, dismissively, instantly uninterested. Lena didn’t know what it was about Leifenish studies that put the young guardsman off; perhaps he’d spent too many hours listening to his father go on about them.

A realization struck her and she spoke without thinking, tugging Jack’s sleeve. “Is that why I’m your lady?”

She undoubtedly felt Jack’s embarrassment that time, saw the tips of his ears turn red. “Something like that, yes.”

“Oh! Are you a mage too, miss?” Seward asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lena’s stomach flipped. It occurred to her suddenly that she had said too much. Kane rolled his eyes, muttering something about her safety, but Jack chuckled. “She is. Though you’re unlikely to see a demonstration. Did you know black magic was banned in Cornelia? It rather hinders one’s studies.”

Lena squeezed Jack’s arm, uncomfortable at the lie he implied, but when she looked up into his face, he winked at her, unrepentant. _Seward will think I’m a black mage!_ she thought. _What will I say if he asks me about black magic later?_

“Is it truly?” Seward said, merely being polite; Lena could feel that he didn’t care about the answer. “Ah, well. You’re better off without it, miss. All a lot of flash and bang with very little purpose. The whole world would be better off with less magic, if you ask me - no offense to either of you! Magic has fallen quite out of favor in Melmond, I’ll have you know, what with the Rot and the sea storms; everyone blames mages for their troubles.”

“Wait,” said Kane. “Aren’t you a mage? I mean, with all these books around, and Jack called you ‘lord’...”

“Sweet Titan, no!” Seward said, laughing. “He called me ‘lord’ because I am one! Lord of Half-Moon Mountain, north of here. My ancestors were the kings of Melmond, back before the monarchy was overthrown.”

There was a knock at the door and one of the maids they’d seen before stuck her head in. “Lunch is on, my lord.”

“Oh, good! Thank you, Mina. Shall we, friends? I hope you all like salad.”

They crossed the sizable manor, passing back down the portrait-lined hallway, the red sitting room with its heavy furniture, and the grand tiled entryway where they had come in, with Lord Unne talking all the way, pointing out features of the house and the history of his family. “Melmond wasn’t always here, you see. It was originally on the slopes of Half-Moon, but they rebuilt it here after Leifen fell - nearer the harbor and all that. My family still owns the land. We’ve a few silver mines up that way, and when the miners find Leifenish artifacts, they send them along. You’ll see a few of my favorites just there!” He pointed out an ostentatious display at the end of the hall ahead of them, bits of carved stone and pottery arranged on pedestals. “The large one at the center is part of the prophecy of the sons of Titan. Jack did the translation when he stayed with me before.”

Kane walked behind them, looking lazily about, radiating boredom, but Lena marvelled at Seward’s passion for his subject, and the artifacts were beautiful in their own way. “Jack said he worked for you?” she asked.

“Indeed! He did translations for me in exchange for room and board until we could find him passage to Cornelia. Took us weeks to do it! The ships just haven’t been running as they used to.”

“He could have looked harder,” Jack said mischievously. “I think he was waiting until I’d worked through his library.”

“Well!” Seward gasped, opening the door as he led them into what must have been the dining hall except that it seemed more like an extension of the man’s study: the long rectangular table at the center was covered with diagrams and tools, though space had been cleared for the portly lord and his guests to eat. “That’s not true at all! There’s still plenty of translating left to do! In fact, I’ve acquired three new volumes since you left that I would love to have your assistance…”

The man went on, but Lena stopped listening, her attention caught by something else: a flood of pure awe from the guardsman behind her. Kane had stopped just inside the doorway and was staring slack-jawed at something in the room. She followed his gaze toward an orrery, a device of clockwork and gears, whirring as it simulated the movement of the moon and stars circling a model of the world. It was the biggest that Lena had ever seen, larger even than the one at White Hall. “Kane?” she said, standing beside her friend as Jack and Seward proceeded to the table, continuing their discussion of Leifenish books.

“What is that?” the guardsman asked, watching the rhythmic motions with rapt attention.

“It’s called an orrery. You’ve never seen one?” she asked, though she could feel the answer.

He shook his head, his voice almost reverent, as he asked, “Is it magical?”

“No,” she said, smiling. “It’s a machina.”

“Machina? What’s that?” he asked, but his eyes never left the device in the corner.

“Don’t know about machina? By the founders!” Seward said. “Why, machina were a wonder of the Leifenish empire, spreading the benefits of magic to the masses! Did you think only mages could pilot their flying ships?”

Kane finally pulled his eyes from the swirling device, looking to Lord Unne in shock. “I thought the flying ships were only stories.”

Seward stared at him, a long, withering look, full of pity and disappointment. Finally he pointed at a chair. “You sit by me, young man. We have much to discuss.”

* * *

After the meal, Lena sat at the table enjoying the company. She didn’t speak, yet she was thoroughly entertained. Jack sat beside her, chatting amiably and openly with Seward across the table, his scarf hanging loosely about his neck, forgotten. She kept stealing glances at his face, marveling at how expressive it could be: the way he bit his lip when he was thinking, the way his scars shifted as he smiled. She thought he might be happy, though she continued to feel very little from him.

By contrast, she felt plenty from Kane: a curiosity that rivaled anything she had ever sensed from Thadius. The guardsman sat across from her, intent on a tiny machina device Seward had handed him, a little platform, no larger than the palm of her hand, with a riot of gears on top and four wheels underneath. At the turn of a small key, it would roll a few inches across the table. Kane gazed at it as lovingly as she had seen him look at Princess Sarah.

Lena reached across the table, patting his arm to get his attention. “Eat,” she said when he looked up at her.

The young man who had claimed to be starving in the market earlier looked down at his nearly full plate, pushed off to one side, and seemed surprised to see it there, picking up his fork once more. He ate perhaps three bites before his attention wavered and returned to the little machina.

Lena stifled a laugh, letting her own attention drift back to the mage beside her. “I just don’t think geographic dialects can account for these differences, not for an empire supposedly tied together by airships,” Jack said, pointing at the Leifenish notes in front of his empty plate.

“Ridiculous!” Seward scoffed. “Why, you can find two distinct dialects of plain speech between here and the West Hills, and that’s only a distance of ten miles! The Leifenish empire is bound to have had similar differences!”

“In speech, yes,” Jack replied. “Not in writing.” He reached for the glass in front of him, his eyes flicking to Lena as he did so, and his smile twitched as he caught her staring. She noticed the slight hunch of his shoulders, the way he ducked his chin closer to the folds of the gray scarf, and she hastily looked down at the remains of her meal.

The door to the dining hall opened and the maid, Mina, stepped in, bringing a little cloud of worry with her. “Beg pardon, my lord. But there’s a man at the front door. He’s asking after master Jack.”

Lena’s eyes went straight to Jack again, but Jack looked to Kane. The guardsman stood, checking his sword as he turned toward the door. “What does he look like?”

The maid shrugged, uncertain. “Um, about… about your height? Dressed in red. With long, white hair. He was looking for all three of you.”

Kane slouched on hearing his father’s description, hands falling heavily to his sides. “Gods, we’re in for it now.”

“Show him in, please, Mina,” Jack said, sighing as he put his scarf back up. He took Lena’s hand and together the two of them went around the table to stand by Kane.

Lena felt Lord Redden’s anger before he ever reached the dining hall, like an ominous cloud on the horizon heralding a storm. He marched stiffly in after Mina, who curtsied and left once she’d seen him inside. Redden bowed in Seward’s direction, speaking with practiced politeness in stark contrast to the emotions that emanated from him. “Lord Unne, I apologize for barging in like this, but I’m afraid we’re on a tight schedule.” He turned to Kane then, his face calm and his voice even, though his temper bubbled beneath the surface. “Son, do you recall the conversation we had only this morning about leaving Lena on the ship?”

Kane swallowed audibly, as though he had a lump the size of the little machina in his throat. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Good,” Redden said, patting his son companionably on the shoulder. Kane winced when the touch landed, though Lena could see it had been only a light tap. “I was worried for a minute there that I had imagined the whole thing.”

“No, sir.” Kane’s voice wavered, and Lena could feel the anxiety rolling off of him.

“I was certain we had had that conversation. So I’m sure you can understand my surprise,” Redden went on, his voice rising in pitch, “when I returned to the bloody ship and the three of you weren’t there!”

“I can explain,” Jack said.

Redden silenced him with a cold glare. “Please, do! Particularly the part where the registrar informs me that I’ve acquired another son as well!”

Jack stuttered, then shook his head, apparently at a loss for words.

“What part of ‘not attracting attention to ourselves’ escaped you? Do you have any idea how easy it was to track you across this gods-blasted city? What if the wrong sort had been looking for you?” Redden crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking between Jack and Kane, not once lowering his eyes to Lena standing between them. The fury he gave off gradually faded into a smoldering ember of anger. When he spoke again, his voice was a low hiss. “I’m very disappointed in you boys.”

Jack wilted, but Kane sputtered, “Us? What about her?”

“As if you’d ever convince me any of this was _her_ idea. You two are a bad influence. Come on. We’re leaving.”

“But-”

“Now, Kane. We’ve stayed too long as it is.”

Kane scowled, grumbling something about Bahamut under his breath. He turned and bowed to Seward. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Unne,” he said, his voice just as calm and courteous when he addressed the lord as his father’s had been though his mind roiled with displeasure.

“Of course!” Seward said. “I’ll, uh, I’ll just see you all to the door, shall I?”

Lena trailed behind as Jack walked with Seward, speaking quietly as they went, Jack offering hasty apologies for their rushed departure. Redden and Kane came behind her, neither saying anything.

When they reached the door, Seward shook hands with each of them, including Redden. “It was delightful to have guests, however briefly. I hope you’ll all consider coming by if you’re ever this way again.”

“We will,” Jack said. “Thank you for lunch. It was good to see you.” He opened the door and stepped out onto the wide porch, where he stopped with a spike of panic and confusion that startled Lena before he tamped it down. “Um,” he said incoherently.

Redden didn’t seem to have noticed, pushing her and Kane out the door after the mage. Once outside, she saw the cause for Jack’s alarm: the man who had followed them before stood just inside the iron gate in front of Seward’s manor, and with him were a number of uniformed guards.

“For Titan’s sake,” Redden hissed under his breath when he saw them. “How did you boys get into so much trouble in so little time?”

“We didn’t-” Jack said, at the same time Kane was saying “But that’s not-”

Both were interrupted, though, by their former follower, who stepped forward and spoke with an air of authority and with the bearing of a soldier. “Lord Redden Carmine? Come with us, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _12/2/16: I couldn’t resist having a little fun with Thad’s fake name in this chapter. Might as well call him Thief Thief, right?_   
>  _I’m also using a bit of creative license with Unne here: in the game, he was “Dr. Unne”, a scholar of Leifenish, but even in the game’s version of Melmond (muddy and falling apart), he seemed to be doing pretty well for himself financially. I figured he must be one of those “gentleman scholars”, you know? Studying in the copious free time he has from being well off? That’s just my take on it._   
>  _I got my copy of Final Fantasy XV and it is so, so pretty. I’m still getting used to the combat – I worry I might be too old to figure out all these complicated games anymore – but I’m impressed by the scale of it so far. I told all my loved ones not to call me for at least a month. “Pretend I’m in Australia,” I said, because that’s the farthest point on the globe from my current location._   
>  _Are you all playing it with me? I’d like to imagine that you are._


	35. Uneasy Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Uneasy Feelings from Final Fantasy VII: Dirge of Cerberus, the only FPS I’ve ever completed in my whole life. Click[here](https://youtu.be/9bfM2spy3Q4) to hear it, a creepy song to go with our creepy chapter-opening flashback. _

_ The Earth Cave, Twenty-five Years Ago _

They crested a hill and there it was: the cave. The slanting light of the sunset shone down on the abandoned mine, its entrance scattered with carts and equipment as if the workers would be back at any moment. Though Redden and his companions had trudged through the Rot to reach the place, there was none of it here. Back on solid ground at last, Redden tentatively reached his senses toward the aether but retracted them quickly, swallowing down the nausea it caused in him. 

The other men were settling in for a rest, waiting until moonrise when Father Bram’s ritual could begin. Technically, it was the old white mage who led them, but Cid was the one ordering them about: posting watches, delegating men to hand out food and check their equipment. Redden looked down at the sword in his belt, a battle mage’s weapon Lord Westen had ordered as a gift for him from Cornelia’s Black Hall. Despite the sword’s comforting weight, Redden felt ill at the thought of casting a single spell.

As if he’d sensed Redden’s discomfort, Father Bram came to stand beside him. "May I help you?" the old man asked, simply.

Redden almost said no - he could heal himself - but when he opened his mouth to speak, his stomach turned. Instead, he closed his eyes, nodding assent as he fought against the sickness. The old man reached up, touching him lightly on the top of his head, casting Cure. Redden felt the spell pour over him, like sinking into a warm bath. He shuddered as the last of the sensation faded, taking the feel of the Rot with it. "How are you so unaffected?" he asked.

Bram shrugged. "The Rot is different for white mages. I can’t draw on the aether. I’m aware of it, yes, but I wouldn’t say I sense it, not as a black mage does, not as you red mages do." The old man stretched, pressing his hands into the small of his back as he puffed out his chest, filling his lungs on a long sigh. Other men his age might have wheezed and coughed to do so, but Bram seemed as hale as any of the men with them, even after the full day’s walk from Melmond. He went on, "I won’t say it isn’t unsettling. Open country like this should be full of living things, but my soul sight shows me nothing. It’s like the life has been sucked out of this place."

"Soul sight?" Redden said. "I thought only born white mages had that skill. Didn’t you learn white magic as an adult?"

"You’re right on both counts." The old white mage lowered himself to the ground, the dead winter grass rustling as he did so. He smiled when Redden took a seat beside him. "I always knew I was different, that I had the talent, but there was the planting to think about, or the harvest, or tending the flocks, one thing after another. It wasn’t until my sons took over the farm that I was able to devote time to my own studies." 

Redden shook his head. It was just like with Cid: though both twins could sense the aether, only Redden had ever shown an interest in learning magic.  _ We’ll have time for that when we’re old and tired, _ his brother liked to say of it.  _ Give me a sword until I’m too weak to lift one. _

Bram chuckled. "I can see you’re having trouble imagining that I could have such a gift and not use it. It was easier when I was untrained. I can’t imagine going without it now, of course." The old man shifted, pulling his hammer from his belt and setting it between them so that he could sit more comfortably. "Lord Westen tells me you’re very devoted to your black magics, young man, but we don’t see much of you at the cathedral. May I ask why?"

"I’ve already learned Cure," Redden said sheepishly.

"Cure isn’t the only white spell. Even if you’ve no interest in the healing arts, there are plenty of spells you may find useful in combat, paladin magics and the like, spells to make your friends stronger or your enemies weaker. Think how useful it would be if a warrior of your skill was capable of performing the ritual I’m doing here tonight."

"I…" Redden could feel himself blushing and hoped it wasn’t obvious in the twilight. "I’m not comfortable there. In Titan’s cathedral."

"Well, you needn’t be religious to pursue the study of white magic," Bram said.

"No," said Redden. "It’s not religion that bothers me. It’s… that it’s  _ Titan’s _ cathedral." His face felt hot at the admission, but the old white mage said nothing, waiting for him to finish. "The Lord’s Council says Cid and I… you know we’re supposed to be the sons of Titan… But I’ve read the prophecy, Father. I’ve read everything I can find about it. I think… I think they’re wrong. And I worry that I’m a disappointment to Him. To Titan, I mean." 

Bram nodded. "That  _ is  _ a heavy burden. Have you told your brother?"

"I can’t," Redden said. "Cid believes. He believes with all his heart. And Lord Westen? The only reason he took us in was because of that prophecy, so we could be raised among the high families. If he knew-" 

"Westen loves you like his own sons," Bram said, interrupting him. "Never doubt that. I won’t presume to speak for the earth god, but you’re not a disappointment to Lord Westen. He speaks highly of you. Both of you." 

_ He didn’t want us to come, _ Redden remembered.  _ He would rather we had stayed safe at the Manor.  _ Maybe Westen, too, had his doubts about the prophecy? Redden looked down at his sword again, remembering the morning four days ago when Westen had hauled him out of bed to train with the other guards and presented him with the blade. Westen had seemed so pleased when Redden had learned the Fire Blade technique after only two days practice. Redden assumed it was because Westen, like so many others, expected great things of the sons of Titan.  _ But maybe he was genuinely proud of me? _ he wondered.

The old white mage grunted as he hauled himself up again. "I have preparations to make. We’ve at least an hour until moonrise. Rest now, and don’t draw this aether unless you have to."

"Yes, sir," Redden said, but his reply was drowned out by a howl. All over the hill, men leaped to their feet, drawing their swords. Redden did likewise, standing beside Bram, both of them looking for the source of the noise. 

Another howl rang out as Cid strode over to them, his own sword glinting in the last rays of the sun. "Wolves?" he asked.

"That didn’t sound like a wolf," said Bram.

Redden saw movement from the cave, a figure shuffling out of it toward them. He could see its open, gaping mouth as another howl split the evening air. "It’s not wolves," he said, pointing. "It’s a man."

The man seemed injured, moving slowly and awkwardly as though in great pain. The howling -  _ Moaning, _ Redden corrected - grew louder as more stumbled from the cave behind the first. All moved with that terrible gait. 

"Those aren’t men," Bram said. 

"What?" said Cid, but Redden saw it, a shaft of sunlight streaming through the hills and over the things, showing their flaws: the missing limbs, the torn out throats, the way some of them dragged their own innards behind them, trailing from their ripped stomachs. 

"They’re dead," Redden whispered. "They’re already dead."

"By Titan’s hands," Bram said, the first words of a prayer, at the same time Cid spat, "Titan. Titan," as a curse.

Around them, the other men had seen it too. They shouted as they formed ranks, facing the cave, where more of the terrors emerged every minute. As Redden stared at them, he realized many were wearing the torn and stained uniforms of Melmond soldiers. And they were still coming.  _ How many? _ he thought. If this place could turn their dead against them…  _ How many men have we sent into that cave? _

They couldn’t wait until moonrise. "Start the ritual," Redden said.

* * *

_ Melmond Harbor, Present Day _

Thad stopped when Orin pointed out another person in the busy market, a big man with Stone Coast tattoos on his hands. He wore no other weapon than a knife, but that knife was nearly as big as Thad’s sword.

"No way," Thad said. "That’s a terrible choice."

The monk nodded, smiling. "Explain your reasoning, please."

Thad sighed. "He’s obviously a sailor. He’s been at it for ages - you can tell - so he’s probably suspicious of street urchins like me."  _ And when a man that size only carries a knife, it’s because he doesn’t need anything else, _ Thad thought. "Excuse me," he said, bumping into another man in the crowd, more or less accidentally. He watched the man’s retreating back for a count of three before turning back to Orin, holding up the coinpurse he’d snatched. "That guy, though. He was a good choice."

Orin chuckled. "Very good. Now return it, if you would be so kind."

He tried not to grumble, plastering on his most innocent smile as he threaded through the other market-goers to tug the man’s sleeve. "Sir? Sir! You dropped this!"

The man, pasty white with an oiled mustache over his blue silk shirt, reached for his belt and seemed surprised to find the pouch no longer there, though Thad held it plain as day in front of his face. "My word!" he exclaimed. He grabbed the purse and looked within, eyes widening as he found its contents intact. "Thank you, young man!" he said, smiling broadly. "Let me reward you for your honesty!"

"Oh, you don’t have to-" Thad started to say, but the man was already pressing a coin into his palm.

"I insist!" he said. "Use it for the revels. You have my thanks."

Thad stared down at the half-gil mark as the man walked away.  _ I could have had the whole pouch, _ he thought, sighing again. He could sense Orin standing behind him before he felt the old monk’s hand on his shoulder steering him away. "That is enough assessment for today, I think."

The two of them walked out of the market, back to the docks, before Orin spoke again. "That was well done. I did not even see you take that last purse, though I was watching you carefully. You are faster than I ever was at your age."  

It  _ had  _ been well done, Thad thought, grinning. Four times that day Orin had directed him to steal something, and four times Thad had been successful. Two of the targets Orin chose had been challenging but doable - a woman whose jewelry seemed quite secure at first glance, and a man who walked with his hands in his pockets. Neither target would have presented any danger to Thad if he had been caught. It was only the last one that Thad had turned down in favor of easier prey. "But what was the point of having me steal things all day if you were going to make me give everything back?"

"It was necessary to assess your skills before I can move on with this aspect of your training," the monk said. 

"Yeah, but I thought I was done stealing stuff? Redden’s always going on about ‘behavior unbemoaning of a Warrior of Light’."

"I believe you mean, ‘unbecoming’," said Orin.

"Whatever!" Thad said, throwing his hands in the air as they reached their ship once more and walked up the gangplank together. Leo stood at the top, guarding the ship beside Paul, a pirate in his thirties who Thad didn’t know well. Paul seemed to prefer the night shift, and on those occasions when he was awake during the day, he never said much. The man seemed well awake now though, and irritated to boot; Thad suspected it was not the sort of irritation that arose from disturbed sleep. 

The two crewmen were arguing in hushed voices, hardly paying more than a passing glance to Thad and Orin when they boarded. They seemed focused on a ship that was tied off across the docks and farther down, a squat, sturdy looking vessel overdone with decorative carving. The figurehead was a busty woman with what looked like rabbit ears, and the name painted in huge letters on the side declared it the  _ L.C.S. Strahl _ . It hadn’t been there when Thad and Orin left that morning, and Thad could see dockhands and liveried servants working at unloading it under the watchful eyes of several uniformed soldiers.

"What troubles you, gentlemen?" Orin asked.

"There’s a man on that ship who’s supposed to be dead," Paul said, sneering.

Leo, who may have been the most level-headed pirate on the crew, shook his head. "Like I said, it can’t be him. He died in the storm." There was no need to specify which storm he meant: the hurricane that had destroyed Safeport two years ago had killed a number of pirates, good and bad alike.

"It  _ is, _ " Paul insisted. "We sailed eight years together on the  _ Bad Octopus  _ when we was boys. Even with that ugly hat on, I know it’s him."

"Well, whether it’s him or not doesn’t matter," Leo said. "It’s clear he’s gone to seed. You can’t just waltz up to a navy ship and ask about your old pirating friend."

_ Gone to seed… _ That was what pirates called it when a man went straight, sailing on business for some landed lord. It wasn’t uncommon for those with disreputable interests to hire disreputable sailors, but those were usually smaller ships, privately owned. For a former pirate to land a position on a navy ship was unheard of. "Which one is he?" Thad asked, looking at the servants and soldiers swarming over the  _ Strahl. _

"That’s just it," said Paul. "That’s the strangest thing. As far as we can tell, he’s the captain."

Thad snorted a laugh. "Sure."

"See what I mean?" said Leo. "It’s absurd."

Paul frowned. "I’m telling you! Wait ‘til he shows his face again. You’ll see. I’ll point him out to you."

"As interesting as this situation may be, I’m afraid I must speak with Lord Redden," said Orin, stepping toward the captain’s cabin where the two men conducted most of their business.

"He’s not here," said Leo. 

The monk stopped. "I expected him back by now. We are meant to set sail within another hour."

The younger pirate shrugged. "He did come back earlier, but then he tore off again looking for Kane and the mages. Could be he’ll return soon."

Orin nodded and took up a position at the rail, motioning Thad to stand beside him, leaning casually as they watched the other ship. 

Thad quickly grew bored. He summoned up his aether sight and focused on the people moving about the docks. Lena had said auras had colors, but Thad was having trouble seeing them. The aether had color to it, yes - he saw it as a shimmering rainbow - but people were brighter than the aether that surrounded them and Thad couldn’t see any color to them at all no matter how he stared.

A dockhand emerged from the lower decks of the  _ Strahl _ carrying a sizable box with the official Melmond seal on it. The markings on the side said it contained wine, and Thad wondered if the dockhand had been sampling it, for the man was clearly drunk, sweating profusely in the heat and swaying with each step he took.  _ He’s going to drop it, _ Thad thought, watching with interest now, waiting for the disaster to occur. 

He didn’t have to wait long. The man missed his step coming down from the slanted gangplank to the flat wooden dock and the box flew from his hands, landing with a crunch of wood and breaking glass and a spray of bright, shining liquid.

"Ooh," said Leo, chuckling at the man’s misfortune. "I hate to see good drink go to waste."

"It does not look as if that man is in the habit of letting drink go to waste," Orin said, his eyes crinkling at the joke.

"You’re right there," Leo agreed, laughing.

"But what is it?" Thad said.

The three men looked at him, confused. "Elven wine," said Paul. "It said so on the box."

"But… wine doesn’t glow like that…"

The two pirates exchanged worried glances, but Orin knelt so that he was looking up at Thad rather than down at him. "In what way is the wine glowing?"

_ Aether sight, _ Thad realized. He was still viewing the world through the aether sight. "Can you… Can you bottle aether? Is that a thing?" 

Orin’s eyes widened. "Potions appear as liquid aether to those who can see it. You had not mentioned that you had mastered the aether sight."

Thad shrugged. "Well, I mean, ‘mastered’ is a strong word." 

"Look carefully," Orin said, pointing. "Is all of it glowing?"

"I guess? It’s fading now. All sort of sinking into the dock."

The monk seemed worried as he gazed at the spilled substance. "That is an uncommon quantity of potion. And on a Lords’ Council Ship as well. It would seem that perhaps the rumors of plague have some basis in fact."

"But why label it as wine?" Leo asked. "Why should a Lords’ Council Ship have anything to hide?"

A voice roared from the other ship and Thad’s head whipped around. A man in an impressive hat stormed down the gangplank and bore down on the fallen drunkard, who scrambled to get away. "I told you to be careful with those!" the man shouted. He was flanked by two uniformed soldiers, though he himself wore no uniform, only a thin shirt with no sleeves. 

"I’m sorry, captain!" the drunk yelped. "I lost my footing!"

"You’ve lost your job! That box was worth more than you are!" the captain said, his face inches from the other man’s as he yelled. "Get out of my sight!" 

The drunk stumbled off, still murmuring apologies. The captain ignored him, facing other men who carried similar boxes. They lined up behind him, awaiting his orders, and when he turned to lead them into the city, Thad got a good look at his face for the first time. 

He stared. "Bayard?"

"Ha!" Paul crowed in triumph. "See? D’you see? I told you it was him!"

"It can’t be," said Leo, staring hard as the angry captain walked up the dock toward the registrar’s table. Bayard - for it  _ was _ him - passed right through the gate without stopping, only flashing a paper at the registrar as he went. 

"How do you know this man, young master Shipman?" Orin asked.

"He sailed with Pappy. He was on the ship - on the  _ Syldra _ \- when the storm…" He couldn’t finish that sentence, couldn’t even think it. There’d been no word on the  _ Syldra _ after the storm, only assumptions.  _ But if Bayard’s alive… _ Thad thought, hardly daring to hope. "How can he be here?" he whispered.

Orin reached up, grabbing Thad’s shoulders, and silenced him with a look. "Young master Shipman, are you able to follow this man without being seen?"

Thad nodded, getting his breath back under control. "Yes, I am."

Orin smiled. "In that case, I believe I will spend more time assessing your skills today after all. Come, show me how stealthy you are."

* * *

_ Fuming. _ That was the word. Lena had never used it to describe someone’s mood before, not to her recollection. But this, the feeling radiating from Lord Redden in a little cloud as they walked from Seward’s manor toward Melmond’s west gate, this was fuming: a jumble of anger and frustration and resentment that left her expecting at any moment to see smoke rising from the top of Redden’s white-haired head. He walked ahead of her, with the man who had followed them before, a young officer she had heard the other guards refer to as sergeant, at his side.

The bard’s emotions mingled with the curiosity of the guards who surrounded them. A strange thing, Lena thought, because though the guards were putting on a show of sternness, Lena wasn’t getting the sense that Redden was in any sort of trouble. The older guards seemed to view him with something akin to hopefulness, almost as if they had been expecting him, while the younger ones, struck by awe, stole glances at him as they walked. 

She wasn’t worried for herself, of course. Neither the sergeant nor the guards had any interest in her, or in her other two companions. Though the sergeant had collected their identification papers when he took Redden’s false ones, he had seemed otherwise unconcerned with their presence. She would have liked to have said something to Jack and Kane, to ease their own worries - they walked close on either side of her, hemming her in as they looked warily at their captors - but she saw no easy way to tell them without potentially alerting the guards to her abilities. Jack, in particular, seemed distraught. She couldn’t sense him as she could the others, but his arm beneath her hand was stiff and tense. 

All of that, on top of the curious stares and suspicious feelings they were drawing from the people in the street, made Lena feel twitchy, like bugs were crawling on her skin and she couldn’t brush them away.  _ I’m going to need such a long swim after this, _ she thought.

"It wasn’t difficult," the sergeant said in answer to a question she hadn’t heard Redden ask. "The south registrar sent word that a pair of Carmines had passed through the docks. Lord Leiden assumed you must be with them and sent me out. I caught sight of them in the lower market. Lost them for awhile, but they weren’t hard to track, two redheads in the company of a masked man. Then it was only a matter of waiting outside Unne’s place for you to show up." 

Beside her, Kane cringed, a surge of guilt like a thunderclap passing through him. "Gods, I didn’t know he had given a fake name at the registrar. He could have told me," he whispered.

"Perhaps if you had given him any indication that you planned to leave the ship, he would have mentioned it," Jack snapped. 

"Please don’t fight," Lena said. "Surely it’s all a misunderstanding. We’re not criminals."

The sergeant looked at her over his shoulder, the ghost of a smile on his face. "That’s not entirely so, miss. It is a crime to lie to the registrar. Lord Carmine here will have to go before Lord Leiden for judgement."

“And what would the standard punishment be for that sort of crime?” Kane asked.

“Public flogging,” said the sergeant. “To start with.”

Lena’s stomach dropped. She hoped nobody questioned her about her own papers, where she had listed her occupation as "servant".  _ It’s not a lie, _ she told herself.  _ I serve life. It’s in the Oath and everything.  _

She felt a spike of alarm from Jack, and suddenly remembered his papers were false as well.  _ Kane said they told the registrar they were brothers,  _ she thought. _ “A pair of Carmines,” indeed.  _ She wondered which of them would be punished if they were caught - Kane for lying, or Jack for using a name that didn’t belong to him - but before she could analyze it further, Redden snarled, "This is the biggest crock of-"

The sergeant interrupted him, grinning. "I’ve no doubt Lord Leiden will be lenient, given your status." 

It was only a short walk from Seward’s home to the city’s west gate, beyond which Lena could see the huge estates of Melmond Manor. The house stood tall amid a colorful garden and green fields busy with dragonflies, all giving way to swamp in the distance. The garden held the only colors that graced this house: unlike the houses she had seen in town, the manor and all of the outbuildings surrounding it were white, a white to rival the glittering stones of Elfheim castle. It almost was a castle, Lena thought, for she had never seen a house that size. The balcony alone, running clear across the front of the house and held aloft by a series of wide columns, could have held the house in Onlac where she had spent her childhood.  

As the house came into view, the sadness and longing Lena felt from Redden overshadowed his anger. It was the same heartbroken sensation she had felt from Kane when they caught their last glimpse of Cornelia.  _ Home, _ she thought, surprised as she interpreted what she felt from him.  _ This was his home! _ But the feeling faded as they drew closer. The house seemed impossibly huge by the time they stood in the shadow of those fluted columns, before the opulently carved front doors. There had been no fence or gate to pass through, but several guards were posted all around the covered porch, including four at the house’s entrance. 

The guards saluted when the sergeant approached. "Sergeant Quincey," one said by way of greeting.

"Constable," said Quincey, passing their identification papers over to the guard. "Tell his lordship we’ve arrived."

The guard took the sergeant’s message inside. No one said anything for several minutes, but then Lord Redden cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Are you Seymour Quincey’s boy?" he asked.

The sergeant nodded. "The youngest."

"Ah," Redden said. "I knew your lord father when we were young. What has he been doing with himself lately?"

Quincey looked at Redden, a steady, calculating look, and Lena could feel that this young officer was not in awe of Redden as the others were. "His duty," Quincey said evenly.

She couldn’t see Redden’s expression, standing behind him as she was, but she could feel the sting of the young sergeant’s words, the shame they caused.  _ What was that about? _ she wondered. She looked to both Jack and Kane, but neither appeared to have noticed anything unusual about the exchange. Caught up in speculation, she jumped somewhat when the door opened abruptly and the same guard who had spoken to the sergeant a moment ago motioned them all to follow him. 

Though the other guards remained outside, Quincey walked with them through the foyer, a chamber easily as large as Cornelia castle’s throne room. It was paneled in dark wood, lit only by sconces that flickered feebly, and it took Lena’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness. She could see a number of people, servants and officials and more guards, standing near the heavily curtained windows or crowding around doorways to stare at Lord Redden and his companions as they arrived. Lena could tell they were surprised, some of them upset, but the huge space echoed so that she couldn’t hear their whispered mutterings to each other. 

The guard led them to an unusual sort of dining room. At least, it seemed like a dining room, for its center was occupied by a long table, the top of which was polished to a gleam that rivaled the gold-framed mirrors on the walls. The chairs that surrounded it, though - huge, stuffed leather armchairs -  would have seemed more suitable for a sitting room. Only one of the chairs was occupied.

The man seated before them was handsome, Lena thought, though he was clearly much older than she was, his blond hair streaked with gray at the temples, his eyes getting wrinkles at the corners. He sat with his hands folded on the tabletop as though he were one of her instructors at White Hall, meeting with her to discuss her performance on an assignment. This, she assumed, was Lord Leiden, Melmond’s ruler.

"So, Redden," the man said, picking up a paper from the table in front of him. He barked out a laugh that would have sounded sincere if Lena hadn’t felt the cynicism behind it. "Or should I call you Gerad? That is what you told the registrar, isn’t it? Gerad Anzelm?"

"Call me whatever you like, Arthur, but do it without the condescending tone," Redden said, emphasizing the man’s given name in a way that made the guard behind them squirm while Quincey muttered something under his breath.

The man only chuckled. "And are you here as a lord of Cornelia, to address me so? I had assumed not, based on this..." Here he waved the paper in his hand and Lena could see it was Redden’s identification from the registrar. "But if you’re here on some business of my cousin’s…”

“No,  _ my lord, _ ” Redden said. Lena could feel him seething, but aside from the stiffness of his posture, he was outwardly calm. "The queen didn’t send me. I'm here on my own."

"But not entirely on your own, it seems," Leiden said, pulling two more papers from his stack, Jack and Kane's identifications. "Paying a visit to the old homestead, are we? With your sons? I've met the younger one, it seems, but I was unaware you had another." Leiden stared at Jack, studying him, seeming to notice the way Lena clung to his arm. She started to pull away, but Jack closed his other hand over hers, keeping her in place. 

"Yes," Redden said, his face passive. "Two sons.”

“Hmm,” Leiden said. "I see he carries your sword." He cocked his chin toward Kane. "Cid's sword, I recognize.” He focused on Jack again. “Let me see your face."

Jack tensed, but didn’t move. Leiden waited, unblinking. Finally, Redden said, “Go ahead… son.” The hesitation was so small that anyone else might have missed it, but it was there, and with it an awkward flutter of embarrassment from both Jack and Redden. 

When Jack pulled the scarf down, Leiden showed almost no reaction, though Lena could feel his surprise. Sergeant Quincey politely looked away, but the other guard stared openly. “I see,” Leiden said after a time. “I’m sorry I asked, young man. You can cover yourself.” He watched as Jack did so, then he looked from Jack to Kane and back again. "They don't look much alike. Different coloring, different builds..." 

"Different mothers," Redden said quickly. “Only one of them my wife. Jack wasn’t raised in court.”

Leiden’s eyebrows rose at that. “Yet you’ve given both of them your name?”

Redden crossed his arms in front of his chest. “If you’re waiting to see me to blush and stutter about it, I hope you brought a book, because you’ve a long wait ahead of you.”

Lena could feel Sergeant Quincey’s discomfort - whether at Redden’s bluntness or at the indelicate subject, she couldn’t say - but Leiden laughed out loud. "You’re your father’s son after all!” He motioned to the guard who had escorted them to the room and said, “Constable, would you be so kind as to fetch my children? Tell them we have guests.”

“I’ve already told you this isn’t a state visit,” Redden said, after the  constable bowed and saw himself out. 

“I’m afraid that’s not up to you,” Leiden said, steepling his fingers in front of him. "Surely you can see you're on dangerous ground, Redden. For a lord of Cornelia to come to Melmond under false pretenses..."

"This has nothing to do with Cornelia," said Redden. “I've come for the cave.”

Leiden chuckled bitterly. “And what do you think you can do there that I haven’t already done? Did you think that wasn’t the first place I checked when the Rot returned? Honestly, Redden, I'm perfectly capable of running my state without the son of Titan checking in on me, you know.”

Redden cringed at that title.

_ Son of Titan? _ Lena thought.  _ Like the prophecy? _ It was an old myth, so old that even people from outside of Melmond had heard it. The story said that when their city needed them, the sons of Titan, Melmond’s founders, would be reborn. She looked at Kane, but she knew before she even caught his expression that he was just as baffled as she was to hear his father addressed so. Jack, too, seemed momentarily shocked.  

Leiden went on, not seeming to notice their surprise. “The seals are intact. You've nothing to worry about on that score."

Redden stood his ground. "Denial is a child's game, Arthur. The Rot comes from that cave. You know it. I know it. If the Rot has returned-"

Leiden didn't seem bothered at the use of his name, only shook his head at Redden's remarks. “We've handled the Rot; it hasn't spread in months. I've no doubt we'll find a way to reverse it, given enough time. But I don’t deny there’s a problem here. Seeing as it’s a Cornelian problem, I’m happy to accept the assistance of a Cornelian lord in handling it.”

He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and brought out something small and metallic, like a coin, but when he tossed it on the table in front of them, Lena saw that it was an amulet depicting a black sun.

“That’s the sign of the Penumbra Brotherhood,” she said, gripping Jack’s arm a little tighter.

Leiden’s eyes flicked toward her briefly. He sat back in his chair, picking up and glancing at her identification paper from the stack in front of him. He sighed as he set it down again. “Redden, I don’t know how servants are expected to behave in Cornelia, but  please instruct Miss Mateus that here in Melmond they don’t speak out of turn.”

Beside her, Jack and Kane seemed stunned, but Lena’s eyes widened at how offended Redden felt on her behalf. He scowled as he said, “As I recall, Lord Westen was fond of saying you should hire servants who think for themselves, rather than blindly follow orders.”

Lord Leiden nodded. “He did say that. Of course, that didn’t stop him from loading his own daughter onto a Cornelian ship when politics demanded it, no matter what  _ she  _ thought of the arrangement.” He waved a hand, dismissing the argument. “I don’t care if your girl here can speak for herself. See that she doesn’t.” He looked again at the way Jack stood close to her, and Lena could feel his disapproval, but then he turned back to Redden. “The official story is that the white mages died of the night plague, but that’s only half true. White mages are more susceptible to the disease, and we lost an alarming number of them to an outbreak at the cathedral, but the others who lived in and around the city simply vanished.”

“You think the Brotherhood took them?” said Jack.

“How long has this been going on?” asked Kane.

“Hush, both of you,” said Redden, brows furrowed as if he was thinking deeply.

“But, Father-” 

“Hush, I said.” He ran a hand through his long white hair, a gesture Lena had often seen his son do when he was frustrated. He stepped closer to Lord Leiden’s table. “I’m sorry for your misfortunes, Arthur. I truly am. But we didn’t come here for you. If not for these two fools...” He gestured toward the boys with a curt nod. “...we’d have sailed for the south cape already. As soon as we get back to our ship-”

Leiden stood, slamming his hands onto the tabletop with a loud snap. “I don’t think you understand your position here, Redden. Melmond is  _ my _ domain, and you, third council lord of Cornelia, are trespassing upon it. You  _ will _ help me, or you’ll face consequences, I swear by the gods.”

“Arthur,” Redden said, his voice a low hiss as he leaned on the table to face the Melmond lord.

Leiden kept speaking, cutting off whatever Redden had to say. “Or do I need to send word to the West Hills?”

Redden froze. “You wouldn’t.”

“Should I tell you who the old man’s chosen as his heir?”

“Don’t do this,” Redden whispered.

Leiden chuckled, his smile a lopsided, crooked thing that made Lena wonder how she could ever have thought this man was handsome. “What’s it going to be, Redden?”

They stared at each other for a long minute, but Lena could feel Redden’s defeat, and when he spoke at last, she could hear it in his voice. “Let me go to the cave. I’ll come back here, I’ll help you fight the Brotherhood, just let us check the cave first. That’s all I ask.”

"Naturally, you're welcome to go check it out," Leiden said, his tone like a steel bar. “I can have a team of my best men ready to accompany you in the morning. But your boys stay.”

“Arthur-”

“It’s not a request,” said Leiden. “Relax. It’s not as if I plan to clap them in irons. They’ll be safe here under the... protection... of Sergeant Quincey.”

The young sergeant made a choking noise, clearly displeased at the assignment even to those less sensitive than Lena, but too well-mannered to say so.

“Besides,” Leiden went on. “I seem to recall that Kane was a fine host for my son when we made that state visit to Cornelia three years ago. This will give Harvey a chance to return the favor.”

“It’s fine,” Kane said, stepping up beside his father and patting his shoulder. “I got along well with Harvey. I don’t mind. And you remember how Ruby is. She and Lena will hit it right off.”

Redden sighed, shaking his head, embarrassed over something. Lena didn’t have to wonder about it long, for Leiden, equally embarrassed, cleared his throat and said, “Perhaps your  _ servant _ would be more comfortable in the servants’ quarters? I’m sure we can find some make-work for her during your stay.”

“No,” Jack said, sharply. “She stays where we do.”

Leiden stared. Even Quincey had turned to stare at them. “Perhaps…” Lena said, but it came out as squeak and she had to start again. “Perhaps it would be better if I returned to the ship?”

“Perhaps it would,” Leiden said, just as Kane was saying, “Not a chance.”

Redden sighed. “The boys are right. She stays with them. I know her papers say she’s a servant, but she’s also…” He trailed off. He couldn’t say she was a white mage, couldn’t say the young men beside her had both sworn to protect her. Lena had always been able to feel when people lied to her, but this was the first time she’d ever felt someone actively grasping for a lie that she knew was coming. 

“She’s what, Redden?” Leiden asked, one eyebrow raised.

“It’s complicated,” the bard said, stalling.

“Oh, just tell him, Father,” said Kane. “She’s Jack’s betrothed.”

The sound Jack made, a little whimper muffled by his scarf, was so small that had the room not been completely and utterly silent Lena would have missed it. Even so she felt the jolt of emotion that accompanied it: a feeling akin to panic. The black mage wouldn’t look at her, seeming suddenly preoccupied with the sword he wore at his waist.  

Leiden glared at Lord Redden, his eyes clearly unamused. “Is this how they do things in Cornelia?”

Redden crossed his arms. “You don’t have to like it, Arthur, but you do have to deal with. As long as we’re your  _ guests.” _

Before Leiden could respond, the door burst open, and a young woman rushed in. She was nearly a copy of Princess Sarah, with the same eyes and long blond hair, but she was taller and thinner. She wore a red dress that seemed made entirely of frills, the skirts swishing as she ran toward them. 

"Lord Carmine!" the girl said, throwing her arms around the bard. "Oh, I was so excited to hear you were in town!" She pulled away, smiling broadly as she looked him over, seeming only then to notice he wasn’t alone. "And Kane, too!" She shifted her attentions to the stunned guardsman, whose eyes all but bulged out of his head at the sight of her. Lena felt his confusion when the girl wrapped him in a tight hug.

"You’re… taller… than I remember," Kane stuttered.

"So are you!" the girl trilled. 

"Let him go, Ruby. I'm sure he didn't come all this way to be smothered," said a young man in the doorway. His light hair hung long around his sun-dark face, and his perfect smile matched the girl’s. He strode across the room to them and stuck a hand out for Kane to shake. “It’s been too long.”

"Harvey," said Kane, taking his offered hand.

Harvey looked questioningly at Lena and at Jack, but Lena didn’t say anything, worried about speaking out of turn, as Leiden had said. Jack, it seemed, had gone shy again. The mage looked pleadingly at Kane. The guardsman very obviously did not roll his eyes at that look.

“Harvey, this is my brother, Jack.”

“Oh, you have a brother?” said Ruby, beaming. “How delightful! You never said!” She looked him up and down, then pointed toward the lower half of his face, spinning her finger in a little circle. “A bit early for masks yet, isn’t it? Are you that excited for the revels?”

“I- That is-” Jack stuttered.

“Jack was away when you visited Cornelia three years ago,” Redden put in. “He's only recently finished his studies.” 

"I’m glad to meet you,” Harvey said, extending a hand to Jack, and Lena had to release his arm so that he could shake. “What were you studying?" 

"Leifenish," Jack said, with almost no hesitation. 

Leiden scoffed, throwing Lord Redden a withering look. "I suppose he must be yours after all." 

“How wonderful!” said Ruby. “I’m fond of Leifenish history myself, though I’m afraid I’ve no knack for the language. So many more consonants than I’m used to!”

Jack only nodded, and Lena could feel the undercurrent of fear he felt at the prospect of speaking with new people. She rested her hand on his arm again, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

The gesture caught Ruby’s eye. “And who is this?” she said, smiling at Lena. 

“This is Lena,” Kane said. “Jack’s betrothed.”

“It’s so nice to meet you!” said Ruby. “Are you staying long?”

“As it happens, they are,” said Leiden. “Ruby, why don’t you take Jack and his… young lady… on a tour of the house? You should go with them, Kane. We’re not quite as grand as Cornelia Castle around here, but we do alright. Give us a chance to win you over.”

Lena didn’t understand why this remark would make Redden angry. Had she not been able to feel it herself, she would never have known the anger was there: Redden held himself so still, his face so expressionless, that there was no visible evidence of what he felt. It was as if Kane sensed it too, for he clearly looked to his father for some sort of permission.

“Go on,” Redden said. “Lord Leiden and I have some catching up to do.”

“Alright,” Kane said.

“Oh! I’m so glad you’re here!” Ruby said, twining her arm through Kane’s as she smiled radiantly. “It’s so wonderful to have guests! And for Midsummer! We’ll head straight to the kitchens to make plans for dinner! Have you ever had Melmond cuisine before?”

Kane, with growing unease, muttered something as Ruby led them into the hall. Beside Lena, Jack was a bundle of anxiety just on the edge of her senses, like the high-pitched steaming of a kettle in a distant room. Harvey and Sergeant Quincey trailed after them, Harvey pleased at their presence, but the sergeant distrustful, regarding the three of them with deep suspicion. Taken alongside Ruby’s effervescent joy, the disparate emotions swirled into an unpleasant mix, like eating cheese and gingerbread together. Even in the face of Ruby’s unwavering optimism and the promise of Melmond cuisine, Lena didn’t feel the least bit optimistic herself.

* * *

They followed Bayard with his guards and dockworkers out of the harbor area, through the  crowded market, into what Thad assumed was the wealthier part of town. Though the streets were just as muddy as those near the harbor, the rest was cleaner, with less of the cracked plaster and structural damage Thad had begun to associate with the Rot. The people he passed on the street as he and Orin trailed the one-time pirate were well-dressed and inattentive, paying more mind to their own conversations as they browsed the shop windows than to the small thief in their midst. They were the sort of people, in fact, that Thad would have described as easy marks if they had still been playing the game they had started in the marketplace that afternoon.

There were more of the Midsummer festival decorations here as well - colorful flags and things - and Thad had plenty of time to admire them as he waited for Orin to catch up. The old monk tottered along several steps behind him, looking back as though he were fascinated by the festive banners on the building they had just passed. Thad went to him and pulled him by the arm. “Come on! We’ll lose them!” he said, trying, unsuccessfully, to keep the whine from his voice. 

“I apologize. I thought I saw something of interest,” Orin said.

Thad sighed. “We can look at it later!” He turned up the street once more, panicking briefly when he realized he’d lost sight of Bayard’s procession but finding them again amidst a milling crowd near the entrance to a side street. There seemed to be some sort of blockade: a waist-high, wooden barrier with only a single narrow opening. A line of guards stood in front of it, holding their weapons in a way that wasn’t threatening but which nevertheless drew attention to the fact that they had them. 

_ I haven’t done anything wrong, _ Thad reminded himself, uneasy at the sight of so many guards in one place.  _ But someone must have, _ he amended, for this was not the sort of street where he would have expected to see them in such numbers. 

“What’s all this then?” a lanky man ahead of him was asking someone else.

The second man, a shorter fellow in a floppy hat, said, “Don’t know. Some kind of magical disturbance earlier, seems like. Man claims he was attacked.”

“On Farplane Avenue?”

“So they say,” the second man said, spitting at the ground. “Whole city’s crawling with these mages. No one’s safe anywhere.”

_ Mages? _ Thad turned to Orin, but again the old man was looking behind them. He poked the monk in the side to get his attention. “Hey! Did you hear any of that?”

“Hmm?” Orin said, smiling as he looked at the two men still idly discussing city events. “Ah, forgive an old man, young master Shipman! I find I am easily distracted today.”

Thad looked where Orin had been looking, but saw nothing out of the ordinary: a few folks staring curiously at the blockade, sailors and merchants, a man selling sausages.  _ Maybe he’s hungry, _ Thad thought, shrugging it off. “Those men said there was a magical attack here!”

“Did they?”

Thad stamped his foot. “Damn it! Would you listen? What was all that you were telling me about spying earlier?”

“There is no need for such language, young man. You know what Lord Redden would say.”  

Thad grumbled, turning his back on the monk.  _ Do I have to do everything myself? _ he wondered. He watched as Bayard argued with one of the guards, a hulking man with an ugly nose who didn’t appear impressed by the seal on the paper Bayard waved in front of him. The big guard calmly held a hand out for it, face expressionless as he looked it over. He passed it to one of his companions, and after a short conversation the second guard ran off down the barricaded street.

Bayard said something to his men, perhaps telling them to get comfortable. Several of the dockworkers set their boxes down, talking and stretching, but the guards who had come with them from the docks grimaced at the one in charge of the barricade. Bayard barked an order at them, his eyes skimming the crowd as he turned back toward the man who barred his way. He opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again, turning his head sharply to look at the crowd once more. A confused crease formed between his eyebrows as he looked right at Thad, but then, with a small shake of his head, he turned toward the guard once more.

Thad let loose the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, then nearly cried out when Orin gripped his shoulder, pulling him gently but firmly back down the street.

“What are you doing?” Thad said. “We don’t know where he’s going yet!”

“He is not going anywhere, not while those men stand guard. We have time to circle the block and find a less exposed vantage point from which to continue our observations.”

“But, Orin,” Thad wheedled.

“Hush, now,” said the monk. “You must learn to trust me on these things.”

Thad looked back, but Bayard and his men were already obscured from his sight by the people who thronged the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _1/6/17: Bit of a FFXII reference in there. Did you catch it? I have entirely too much fun coming up with these._   
>  _In addition to my two beta readers, Dizzy and Rabbit, who I have mentioned before, I also have a pair of beta listeners. I tend to read my story out loud to myself as I’m writing (I guess that’s just the children’s librarian in me), so it seemed natural I should find a willing audience to listen to it. The first of these, a lifelong friend whose online name is Sweaterkittys, had a good laugh during this chapter. After Kane says Lena is Jack’s betrothed, and I describe Jack as making a noise, she said, “I’m picturing the ‘!’ noise from the Metal Gear games!” I like it. It fits._   
>  _After just over a month, and something like 80 hours of gameplay (at least 60 of that sidequesting), I finished FFXV two days ago. I cried. No spoilers or anything, but I ugly cried for 30 minutes straight. But I was pleased, as I played, at all the references to past FF games in there! For instance, I chose Lord Leiden’s name after Yang Fang Leiden from FFIV, but in FFXV, one of the first items you find are Leiden Peppers. Although there were no summons in FF1, I’ve used them as the gods in my story; of the eight summons I wanted to use, I managed to hit all six of the ones used in FFXV._   
>  _If you played FF1, you know Titan and Bahamut were in the game (though not as summons), and I’ve already mentioned Ramuh and Leviathan. Shiva and Ifrit come later. I used Asura in Elfheim. That leaves one more. Care to guess who it is?_


	36. Intruders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Intruders from Final Fantasy VIII. Click[here](https://youtu.be/wFlijEzJEqg) for the original, [here](https://youtu.be/X9ki8r2BDSk) for a guitar/bass version, or [here](https://youtu.be/lP2OUbqP_lc) for a fancy remix. And while you’re clicking things, click [here](https://youtu.be/by1U3nUkIUs) for the song “Unseen Intruder” from Final Fantasy XIII-2, which also works pretty well for this chapter. _

_ _

_ Melmond Manor, Twenty-five Years Ago _

Redden fought beside his brother. He could sense him there, the strong aether of Cid’s aura guarding his back, but he couldn’t see him: the Vanish spell Redden had found in one of Bram’s old books was everything he’d hoped it would be. He wasn’t Vanished himself; moving while invisible, it turned out, required a certain level of grace that Redden lacked, but he had grace enough for this.

His sword sparked with electric energy as he parried a blow, striking his attacker’s chest with his other hand, his strength temporarily enhanced by another white spell. His opponent fell wheezing to the compacted dirt of the training yard, the fourth to fall in as many minutes.

Three came at him at once then, and if he hadn’t seen them coming he would have been overwhelmed, but his quick thinking saved him.  _ “Cheela galuhda!”  _ he called, concentrating not only on his own sword but on his attackers’ as well, as he summoned the Fire Blade. Two of the men panicked to find their weapons suddenly aflame; they cried out as they dropped their blades. The third kept his, but he was clearly shaken, and it took less effort than it should have for Redden to disarm the man.    

He could still hear fighting behind him, but when he turned to render his assistance to Cid, he was just in time to see the last man fall, legs swept out from under him and his sword flying off into a corner of the yard as if it had been thrown. The downed man scrambled after it, but before he could take it up again, a voice called, “That’s enough.”

Lord Westen stood at the fence, nodding as he surveyed the scene before him. Father Bram stood with him, clapping as though he’d been watching a play. “Well done!” said the old white mage. “Well done, indeed! A dozen men against two!”

“Most of that was Cid,” Redden said, feeling a blush creep over his face.

“You’re too modest.” Westen’s eyes gleamed, his mouth narrowed into that thin line that counted as a smile if you knew the man at all. To the priest, he said, “Redden hasn’t missed a day of training since your journey. His progress has been the talk of the Manor.”

Bram nodded approvingly. “You have made amazing strides in only a few short weeks. But I see you haven’t been lax in your magical studies either, young man. You have Protect up, and did I detect the use of Boost?”

“Yes, sir,” said Redden. “The books you lent me have been amazing. I can’t believe I ignored white magic for so long. It even makes the black magic easier.”

“That’s the first time he’s managed to Spellblade someone else’s sword!” came Cid’s excited voice from somewhere to his left.

Westen started in surprise. “Must you sneak about?”

Redden blushed. “Sorry about that, sir. The Vanish has usually worn off by now.”

“It will last longer as you become more proficient,” said Bram. “It may be a good idea to start practicing Dispel.” He waved a hand, and Redden felt the web of aether he’d woven over his brother dissipate. Cid reappeared, looking down at his arms and hands and torso as though to be sure nothing was missing.

There was a long, awkward silence. Westen sighed, and Redden noticed Bram’s smile fading as well, the old priest growing serious. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?” Redden said.

Bram nodded. “We believe the Rot is spreading once again.”

“How?” Cid said. “If something has broken the seal-”

“No,” said Bram. “The seal holds. We have already checked. But the foul magics are still building behind it, like a reservoir behind a dam. If we do nothing, they will continue to overflow into the countryside.”

“What can we do?” said Redden.

“I must return to the cave,” said Bram. “At moonrise on the next full moon, I must repeat the ritual. I would like you two to go with me, with whatever other warriors we can find.”

“Sounds simple enough,” said Cid. “If the seal is still in place, it’s not as if those dead things can get out of the cave like they did last time.”

“That is exactly why I require your aid,” said Bram. “I must place the second seal behind the first. If we are to stop this evil, we must enter the cave to do it.”

* * *

_ Melmond, Present Day _

“It’s not what I expected,” said Tronn. “A warehouse in the lower town, maybe, but not the business district.”

Halm Porter had been thinking as much himself. It explained why it had taken the Brotherhood so long to track the potions this far. The packaging was a nice touch.  _ “Elven wine,”  _ he thought with a sneer.  _  Carried through the streets in broad daylight, and none of these fool rich men the wiser. _ “Quiet,” he said, but without much heat to it. It had been more than an hour since anyone had even come close to the alley mouth where the two Vanished men waited, watching. 

“Oh, no one will see us,” said Tronn. “No one without aether sight, anyway.” The young dark mage could be so full of himself, confident that nothing in the city was a match for him, despite the fact that he knew no more than the most basic spells. They were all like that, the younger ones: they’d never been to Black Hall, never seen what real, trained black mages could do.   

Near a corner across the way, not far from the entrance to Farplane Avenue where the ship’s captain they were following paced impatiently, an old man with a face like a prune looked toward them. His gaze swept over the alley, back and forth, but more than once came to rest on the spot where Tronn stood, as if he could see him there. “Not everyone with aether sight is on our side,” Halm whispered. “Be quiet.” 

Though Tronn himself was invisible, his aura shone in Halm’s aether sight, a dark red. It shifted, a casual shrug, and the other mage said no more. 

The old man watched the alley for a moment longer, then turned and began to walk away. Halm sighed, relieved to see him go for some reason. There had been something… unsettling about him. Halm had a feeling he should know him from somewhere but couldn’t think where. He shook it off, returning his attention to the captain, or, more specifically, to the boxes from which the captain was never more than a yard away. Three of the men who had been carrying them were sitting on them now, playing cards over a fourth box, while some other of their companions were off to one side having a smoke. 

Through the aether sight, the boxes gave off a faint glow, some brighter than others. A few hardly glowed at all.  _ Not all potions, then, _ Halm thought, staring at one of the dimmest.  _ There may actually be elven wine in some of those. _ It wasn’t as valuable as healing potion, but it was still an extravagance. He had enjoyed it the few times he’d tried it.  _ Perhaps we could keep a few bottles when we... _

His thoughts trailed off. There was something over there, near that corner where the old man had been, something in the aether. There was a boy, small, perhaps ten or so. He was watching the card game with interest. His aura shimmered, fading at the edges into little wisps of light that blended into the raw aether.  _ A black mage? _ Halm thought, but that wasn’t what had caught his attention. A faint green haze moved around the child, some spell perhaps.  _ He’s clearly untrained. He can’t have cast it himself.  _ They would have to take him for questioning.

“Porter,” Tronn said, hitting him in the arm. “Wake up. I think they’re moving.”

He was right. The squash-nosed guard who seemed to be in charge of the others was ordering the barriers taken down. People began heading down Farplane Avenue again. The captain barked an order at the dock workers, who hastened to pack up their amusements and take up their loads once more. Halm looked toward the boy, wondering how they would do this.  _ One of us will have to deal with him while the other trails the captain, _ he thought, but he saw right away that it wouldn’t be necessary. The boy was still watching the dock workers, even though the cards had been put away.  _ He’s following them too, _ Halm realized. He didn’t know why, but that didn’t bother him.  _ There will be plenty of time to ask him later. _

* * *

“They’re moving!” Thad said, turning to where he’d last seen Orin, but the monk wasn’t there. “Orin?” he whispered, looking around the corner toward the alley that led behind the building. “Orin?”

Thad panicked.  _ Where did he go? _ How could the old man leave him like that? Thad had never been to Melmond! He had no idea where he was, where he was going. And now Bayard and his men were moving.  _ What do I do?  _ Was this a test? Was the old man watching him from somewhere? 

Bayard’s guards moved into place around the dock workers and their cargo. Bayard signaled the men forward. Thad watched them go, momentarily frozen by indecision. He could just ask someone how to get back to the docks; most people were helpful if he smiled and acted cute... 

...But, then again, he could ask someone how to get to the docks  _ after _ he’d seen where Bayard was going.

He waited for his chance, then slipped into the crowd, unnoticed by almost everyone.

* * *

Kane was exhausted, not just from walking around the enormous house with its various outbuildings and extensive grounds, but from Ruby’s relentless chatter. The girl hadn’t stopped talking, not once the whole afternoon. She’d held to his arm and favored him with that smile so like Sarah’s it was uncanny. Sarah, though, was more serious than Ruby, short-tempered and intolerant of silliness: when Sarah smiled, Kane always felt that he had earned it, that he had won some secret game. Ruby’s smiles, freely given, only left Kane feeling confused.

_ At least now she’s fixated on Lena, _ he thought. At some point in their tour, Lena had begun to open up, laughing at Ruby’s jokes, asking questions about the house, and before long the two girls were focused on each other, with four silent young men in tow like a bored retinue. It was the first time Kane had seen Lena in the company of another young lady, and her behavior seemed so different from usual that Kane found it easy to understand why his father believed the soul reader only reflected the emotions of those around her.  

“Ruby, this is gorgeous!” Lena was saying, walking beside the girl several paces ahead of Kane and his three companions as they toured the walled garden behind the house.

“I wish you could have seen it last year. This summer has really been quite too hot for some of these plants,” said Ruby, pinching off a dead rose bloom between her fingers and tossing it into a basket she’d brought along. “Now, this fountain is new. It’s genuine Half-Moon marble. Father commissioned it from a sculptor in the Blue Quarter. Very talented artist.”

“Oh, look at the fish!” Lena exclaimed, leaning over the water.

Harvey chuckled, patting Jack’s shoulder. “You’ve lost her to a water feature.”

Jack sighed, speaking quietly. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“What was that?” said Harvey.

“Nothing.”

“At any rate,” said Harvey. “It’s probably time for dinner. Wouldn’t you say, Sergeant?”

“Nearly,” said Quincey, lurking behind them and frowning at the blooming garden as if he’d rather be literally anywhere else. It seemed obvious to Kane that the man was an officer, now that he knew. Though the sergeant wore no uniform, there was something uniform-like to his outfit, the way he wore his collared shirt tucked in just so, as if he wasn’t comfortable in regular clothes. Quincey craned his neck to look out the garden gate at the nearest guardsmen at their posts. “Looks like third shift’s just come on duty.”

“Has it?” said Kane. He didn’t know if the guard shifts here ran similarly to those in Cornelia, but he suddenly noticed how hungry he was. He hadn’t realized they’d been at Melmond Manor so long already. It felt like they’d only just left Lord Unne’s house.

“Ruby,” Harvey said. “Let’s get our guests to their rooms so they can dress for dinner.”

“Goodness, you’re right!” the girl said. “Oh, you must come with me, Miss Lena! I have a maid who loves to fix my hair, and when she sees how gorgeous yours is, she’ll simply die!”

“Um… alright,” Lena said, uncertainly.

Ruby linked arms with Lena, her basket jostling between them. “And on the way, I can show you that tapestry I mentioned. The one with Leviathan on it? It’s not hanging at the moment, as we found it in a trunk in the attic and it needs seeing to, but the colors are quite vivid!”

She was still talking when they reached the house and she pulled Lena off toward her room. Lena smiled back at Jack and Kane, throwing them a little wave. Jack lifted a hand in farewell, his eyes forlorn as he watched her go until they’d turned a corner out of sight.

Harvey tried to hide a laugh but it came out as a snort. “My, you do have it bad,” he said. “Buck up, friend. Ruby hardly ever keeps anyone. There’s every chance you’ll get her back.” He signaled a servant, a stiff, older man in crisp livery, who bowed low despite the generous paunch around his middle. Harvey said, “Gilbert, show our guests to their rooms, please.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I’ll see the two of you at dinner, then,” Harvey said, offering them a lazy sort of salute over his shoulder as he walked away.

“If you would follow me, my lords,” said Gilbert, bowing once again.

Kane winced. “You needn’t call us that,” he said. “We’re not lords.”

“I’m sure it’s not my place to say, my lord,” the old man said.

Quincey followed after them with a grimace that put Kane in mind of the lean, hungry dogs that sometimes prowled Cornelia’s streets, like the officer was just waiting for one of them to make a mistake before he attacked. It made Kane uncomfortable, but he didn’t have to deal with it long: before they’d even crossed the foyer, a large guardsman approached the sergeant, handing him a sheaf of papers that might have been reports. He spoke low and rapidly. Quincey sighed and said, “I’ll handle it. Keep an eye on these two. Leiden’s orders.”

Gilbert waited politely as the new guard took Quincey’s place, then the old servant led them through the halls of the manor, upstairs to an area on the third floor that seemed to be the guest wing. Gilbert opened a pair of neighboring doors for them. “Your rooms, my lords. Can I fetch anything for you?”

Jack entered the room on the right and shut the door without a word.

“No, thank you,” Kane said.

Gilbert bowed and left, passing the guardsman, already standing sentry. The guard faced Kane, rather than facing the hall leading to their rooms, guarding against whatever Kane and Jack might do rather than guarding the two of them from harm. Kane wasn’t surprised. He wondered if the entire manor and every guard in it already knew who they were and why they were here. The guard, a thickly muscled man with a bulging neck and a squashed nose, caught his look and gave him a nod of acknowledgement. Kane returned the gesture before stepping into his own room.    

* * *

The room was grand for guest quarters, Jack thought, surveying his surroundings, grander even than the Carmines’ rooms in Cornelia Castle. The bed was large enough that he could lay across it sideways with only his feet hanging over the edge, and covered in a blanket featuring an elaborately embroidered pattern of loops and swirls that must have taken a year of stitching to complete. The furniture - headboard and side table, a small desk and chair, a washstand, and a tall wardrobe - were a matched set, all a reddish wood, carved at the edges with the same swooping pattern as the embroidery.

Jack sat on the edge of the bed, jabbing himself in the side with the hilt of Redden’s sword. He stood, unbuckled the sword belt, and sat again, laying the weapon across his lap before sinking his elbows to his knees and burying his head in his hands. He took deep breaths, wrapping his mind around the sword. The aether was quiet; Jack had, after all, drawn off of that stranger in the business district earlier, filling the ever present hollow in his soul. But then that stranger had turned out to be an officer in the Melmond guard, the very officer who was assigned to watch over him while he was stuck here. Running his mind over the simple focus spells bound to the blade helped him calm his jangled nerves. His emotions had been tied to the aether for so long he didn’t know any other way to work through them. 

A door beside the wardrobe opened and Jack looked up in alarm, but it was only Kane. The guardsman’s smile faltered when he saw Jack’s posture. “Look,” Kane said somewhat awkwardly. “Connecting rooms.” 

Jack scoffed. “Yes, wonderful. Amazing. Now, turn around and go back.”

Kane grinned, shutting the door behind him as he stepped fully into the room. “What’s got you in a snit?”

“Nothing,” Jack snapped. One hand fell to the sword that lay across his knees, gripping the scabbard so hard that his leather glove creaked. 

Kane nodded toward the weapon. “Is it the aether again?”

“No,” Jack said. “I just want to be alone.”

“We  _ are _ alone,” said Kane. Jack glared, but the guardsman only raised an eyebrow at him. “You haven’t said a word all afternoon. Come on, out with it.”

Jack lowered his head again, squeezing his eyes shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gods, Kane! What have you got us into now?”

“Me?” Kane gasped. “You heard what Leiden said! This is father’s mess! Why is this  _ my _ fault?” 

“Because it is! We wouldn’t be in this situation if not for you!” It had never occurred to Jack that someone who had purportedly had a white mage nursemaid could lie so quickly and with a straight face, but Kane was apparently skilled at it. “You lied to get me off the ship, lied to the registrar... lied to Leiden!” Jack’s face burned as he thought of that last one, but just this once when a rush of cold from the aether would have been welcome, there was nothing. He called up the ice spell he commonly used to keep himself cool in his coat, a spell he hadn’t needed in weeks, and shuddered as it settled over him. It did nothing to abate the weightless, floating feeling of dread that radiated out from the pit of his stomach. “Gods! What were you thinking?”

Kane blinked. “Wait,  _ that’s _ what you’re upset about? That was hours ago! Have you been holding it in this entire time?”

“Yes, I’ve been holding it in! You know what happens when I don’t hold it in, you colossal moron!” He stopped, ashamed of the sudden outburst. “I… I didn’t mean that. Kane, I-”

Kane laughed, seeming more amused than offended. “You know, you can be so quiet in mixed company, I sometimes forget how blunt you can be when you do speak.” He leaned against the wall beside the washstand. “I thought it was pretty clever, myself. I didn’t hear you offering Leiden any better explanations as to why we’d want to keep Lena close.”  He flashed what was probably meant to be a disarming smile.

Jack ignored it. “You told them she was my betrothed! That’s  _ too _ close!”

“No closer than you already appeared!” Kane said, spreading his hands. “If she’d been on  _ my _ arm at the time, I would have claimed she was mine!”

Jack stared. “What in Ramuh’s name is wrong with you?”

Kane rolled his eyes. “It’s the best way to keep her safe! Did you miss the part where the Brotherhood is here - in Melmond! - actively kidnapping white mages?” 

“It would seem I did!”  Jack hissed. “I spent weeks in this city, didn’t I? I never heard anything about the Brotherhood in all that time! And now I’ve brought Lena into the middle of it!”

“To be fair, that was father again. That’s not on us.” Kane shrugged. “Besides, you’re here with her. You’re meant to guard white mages! You said so yourself.”

“Not like this!” Jack said. “Playing at being betrothed? I can’t! Not without my staff! You don’t know what she does to me!”

Kane smirked. “I have a general idea.”

Jack groaned. _He thinks this is funny._ _I’ll kill him. Gods help me, I will._

Kane laughed again. “Relax! I know what you meant: the aether. Honestly, Jack, you’re overreacting. Not that I mind - I keep telling you it’s unhealthy to hold back all the time - but it’s going to be fine. You’ve been at her side all afternoon, haven’t you? Nothing happened.”

“Today was…” Jack sighed, rubbing his temples. He’d done dark magic today - that was why. As worried as he was about their current situation, he was hellishly aware that if hadn’t drawn off Quincey in the street earlier, he would currently be sitting in a snowdrift. “There are things I can do that make it easier to control. But they’re unpleasant.”

Kane crossed his arms, regarding Jack critically as he continued to lean against the wall. When he spoke, his words were sharp as knives. “As unpleasant as being apart from her?”

“But…” Jack stared down at the sword in his lap. Drawing from the sergeant had bought him at least a day, perhaps two. What would he do after that? “She’s bound to notice, Kane. I can’t keep it from her if I’m with her all the time.”

“Would it really be so bad if she knew? Surely she wouldn’t think less of you for something you can’t control?”

“ _ You _ might,” Jack said bitterly. “If you knew anything about magic.”

Kane stepped up to the bed and put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You’re right: I don’t know about magic. But I do know what it’s like not to be with the person you want.” He sighed, his eyes unfocused for a moment as he seemed to look within, but then his usual smile returned and he patted Jack’s shoulder hard. “You, though. You have a chance. I’m only trying to help.”

Jack looked up at that stupid, sincere grin. “Please stop helping me,” he said, his voice flat. “I don’t think I can handle more help from you.”

There was a knock at the door and a polite, “My lords?”

Kane grimaced at the words before he called, “Come in.”

Gilbert entered, carrying a small bundle of folded clothes. “Forgive me, my lords. Your lord father has sent to your ship for your things, but seeing as they have yet to arrive, the young Lord Leiden has lent you both something suitable to wear to dinner.”

“Give Harvey our thanks,” Kane said, taking the bundle.

When Gilbert bowed and left, Kane unfolded what he’d been handed: a pair of cross-breasted, long-sleeved suit jackets, one blue, the other red. He held one in each hand, looking between them as though he’d never seen a jacket before. “I know Melmond nobles dress for dinner, but this can’t be right,” he said, holding them up for Jack to see.

Jack shook his head. “No, that’s the fashion here. Looks like the sort of thing Seward always wears.”

“It’s high summer!” Kane sputtered. “We’ll roast in these!”

“ _ You _ might,” Jack said, setting the sword aside as he stood and took the blue one. When he slipped it on, the sleeves were several inches too short for him, leaving the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt exposed above his gloves. The bottom hem hit him near the hips, well above where it should. He glanced at himself in the mirror over the washstand and sighed. “I suppose it’s a good thing I’m used to looking ridiculous.”

“It’s no worse than that dreadful hat of you usually wear,” Kane said, getting an arm into one of the sleeves of the red jacket, but unable to get the other. “A little help?” Jack guided his arm into the right place, but the jacket was clearly tailored to Harvey’s slender frame. Kane struggled to get it on, and then it was stretched taut across his shoulders. He reached for the buttons, but couldn’t seem to move his arms more than a few inches. “I can’t button this,” he said, crestfallen.

“At least we’ll be ridiculous together,” Jack said.

“Surprisingly little comfort, that.”

Jack looked at the two of them in the mirror and nodded. “Something tells me comfort is going to be hard to come by for the immediate future.”

* * *

The boy was quick, Halm thought. He lost track of him more than once, but the boy always turned up again, his aura a bright, pale green like the reed grass that grew back home in Cornelia. Before they were halfway up the street, it was clear that the captain and his shipment were heading toward the Chubby Chocobo, the big tavern at the end of the block, and Halm felt more comfortable keeping a closer eye on the boy. 

There was definitely something strange going on with the aether around him. The more that Halm watched, the less certain he was that it was a spell after all. Though he’d flunked out of Black Hall shortly before the war, he still knew a thing or two about spells. This seemed more like a current of aether, like a river or a swift wind, curling in little eddies in the boy’s wake. It wafted like smoke behind him, swirling and spinning as he hurried toward the Chocobo just as the captain went through the door. The boy stood outside, trying to be subtle about peeping through a window, then turned and casually strolled around the side of the building, looking in every window he passed. 

“That’s it then,” said Tronn. “We should report back.”

“Not yet,” said Halm. “There’s a boy over there - a street urchin, I think - that Lord Eldieme will want to see. This way.”

By the time they’d crossed the street to the tavern, wending their way through the crowds of people who couldn’t see them, the boy was gone. Halm followed his green aether trail to the back of the building, and was surprised to see it flowing up the wall and into an open window on the second floor. It looked like a difficult climb; Halm was sure he couldn’t do it himself, particularly as fast as the boy must have gone. 

“Is that his trail?” Tronn said. 

“Yes.”

“Bugger that. I hate climbing. I say we go inside and have a look before the Vanish wears off. If we find him, you can Teleport us out.”

Halm nodded. Most dark mages had a talent, and that was his. It was why they called him Porter. “I’ll go in,” he said. “You keep watch here in case he comes out again. If he does, hold him until I get back.”

He headed toward the tavern’s other side instead of back the way they had come. It was, he reflected later, the only thing that saved him. One little choice, deciding to go left instead of right. He was about to turn the corner when he heard footsteps behind him, and hurried to make the turn, forgetting he was Vanished. It could have been a cook, or a kitchen maid - Tronn stood near the tavern’s service entrance, after all - but when Halm looked back, he saw the old man he had spied in the street before. 

_ How do I know him? _ he wondered again. 

The man walked slowly and with apparent pain, leaning heavily on a walking stick. Had he had that walking stick before? Halm searched his memory but he couldn’t recall. Tronn’s red aura still stood in the middle of the alley, almost directly in the old man’s path. The mage waited until the old man was nearly upon him before he stepped silently to one side. 

The old man stopped, cocking his head as though listening, then he spoke. “It is no easy thing, to move while Vanished. You should have trained more.” 

Halm flattened himself against the wall, peeking around the corner.  

Tronn moved back another step. The old man stared right at the spot, motioning at the ground with one hand. “You see, if you had trained, you might have discovered that being Vanished does not prevent you from casting a shadow.”

Then the old man lashed out, so fast that Halm couldn’t follow the motion, whipping the walking stick into Tronn’s ankles with a loud crack. The stick shattered, and Tronn cried out. Halm almost moved to help him, but something tickled at his memory when Tronn drew from the old man, when that dark green aura flowed into the other mage and the old man staggered but didn’t fall.  _ Dark green… No! It can’t be!  _ He had seen that aura before, back in Cornelia, when the fighting had begun: the royal court’s answer to the Brotherhood’s uprising, a man who fought while shielded with white spells but who wasn’t bound by the white mage’s Oath. No one had ever seen his face.  

“Stupid old man!” Tronn spat. “Do you have any idea what I am?”

“A dark mage, it would seem,” the old man said. “But Vanish is a white spell.” 

Tronn drew from him again. The old man sank to one knee, but too smoothly. His face was serene. It was true… the rumors were true. But Tronn wouldn’t know about that; he was too young.  _ He’s immune to the pain! Run!  _ Halm called out in his mind, willing the other mage to hear him. Tronn didn’t appear to notice anything out of the ordinary. He bent over the old man, and Halm could hear the leer in his voice. “Old fool. Didn’t anyone tell you there were no white mages left in Melmond?”

“Forgive me,” said the old man. “That news has not reached the Cornelian court.” He struck, jabbing his flattened hand into Tronn’s throat with horrible efficiency. There was a snap, and Tronn fell gasping to the ground, his breath a choked rattle. The deep red of his aura flared bright as he tried to draw from the old man again, but then it faded, gradually, like a candle flame under a glass jar, until it went out, and Halm could see nothing but the shadow of Tronn’s Vanished corpse. 

“I am sorry it came to this,” the old man said. He stood, somewhat unsteadily, and walked back the way he had come.

Halm waited, afraid to breathe, wanting to be sure the old man was gone before he moved, then he Teleported as far from the city as his powers would carry him.  _ Forget about the boy, _ he thought. This was too important. Lord Eldieme had to know: the White Wind, King Fuller’s assassin, had come out of retirement.

* * *

_ Offices, _ Thad thought.  _ Why is it always offices?  _ He looked about the room he’d broken into: packed full of four broad desks, two against each of the side walls, a place for minor clerks to do their tasks. They’d have to be skinny, Thad thought, imagining how little space would remain if the four chairs were all occupied at the same time. He glanced at the papers on the desk nearest him, shipping records for expensive foods and liquors. Knowing what he knew about Bayard’s “elven wine”, Thad wondered how accurate the accounts were. 

He hurried to the door, putting his ear against it. The other side was quiet. He could make out some ambient noise from the tavern on the first floor, but he didn’t think anyone was nearby. He opened the door a crack, looking out into the hall beyond, and found it empty.  _ He’s around here somewhere, _ Thad thought. 

He knew it was the boxes that interested Orin, but Thad only cared about the captain. Through the windows out front, he’d seen Bayard’s men carry the strange boxes through a door into a back room while the captain himself went up a set of stairs behind the bar. It was clearly not a public staircase, only accessible to the taverns’ workers, and Thad had been sure he wouldn’t have had any luck following Bayard that way. But, Thad thought, there was something fitting, something right, about his sneaking in through an upstairs window. 

He stepped into the hallway, moving quietly, leaving the door to the tiny office - and its open window - gaping behind him in case he needed a quick escape. There were sconces along the wall, though only one was lit, the one across from the stairs. The light showed three other doors, all shut, and Thad listened at each of them. Only at the last one did he hear anything: the voices of Bayard and another man. 

“-sahagin attacks the likes of which I’ve never seen,” Bayard was saying. “If you expect us to make another run in this heat, we’ll need more soldiers.”

“You shall have them,” the other man said. His voice was quiet and proper-sounding, like Jack’s. “I’ll send word to the commander in the morning, though it’s unlikely he’ll give you anyone before the festival’s over.”

“Suits me fine. I hadn’t planned to sail out again before then.” There was a pause while Bayard apparently ate something, for when he spoke again, his mouth was full. “Commander must have a lot on his plate. What’s this I hear about an attack on Farplane Avenue?”

The quiet man made a “tsk” sound. “I’m afraid I do not yet know the details. Seems a dark mage set upon a young guardsman this afternoon. Only a single spell. No one else was hurt.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“If I didn’t know the victim myself, I’d dismiss it out of hand.” Thad heard the clink of glasses, the sound of a drink being poured, another long pause. “However, my sources bring me other rumors which I’m finding rather harder to discredit. Rumors of a white mage in the city.”

Bayard sputtered, choking on his drink. “A white mage? Alive?”

“Somewhere in the lower town, from what I can gather.”  _ They know about Lena! _ Thad thought, but then the other man continued, “I had hoped, seeing as you won’t be departing again for a few days, that I could count on you and your men to find him and bring him to me.”

Thad cocked his head at that.  _ Him? _

Bayard laughed, but it sounded forced. “You expect us to comb the slums on a rumor? The lower town’s packed with refugees from the outlying farms. Titan himself could be hiding in that lot and we’d never find him.”

“Perhaps if you’d been able to persuade one of the white mages from the Lake to accompany you, we wouldn’t be in this position. We need white mages, captain. We can’t finish this without them.”

“What about that girl? The one from the high families?”

“Her father smuggled her off to Cornelia as soon as the Nerick Pass reopened. I don’t know what use she would have been to us anyway, untrained as she was. This other mage, though, seems to have at least some training. I’ve seen his works. And if I’ve seen them, it’s likely others have noticed them as well. I want him found before he causes unnecessary harm.”

_ What kind of harm could a white mage cause? _ Thad wondered. 

There was a scraping of chairs. The quiet man said, “I hate to seem rude, captain, but I’m afraid further discussion will have to wait. I have another obligation this evening.”

“I could come back in the morning,” said Bayard. 

Thad could hear the two men moving, their footsteps coming toward him. He retreated into the tiny office, pulling the door almost closed, leaving a small crack that afforded him a limited view of the hallway facing the stairs. He heard the other door opening. The quiet man was speaking, though Thad had missed some of it. “-tonight. The bar will be open late for the revels.”

“Very well. I’ve some business in the harbor. I’ll return when it’s done.”

“Until then.”

Bayard left. The quiet man stood at the top of the stairs and watched him go. From his hiding place, Thad watched the quiet man. He was tall and thin and pale. He wore a sword at his waist that was just as skinny as he was, a long, slim blade that looked almost delicate against the pale man’s dark suit. It seemed to glitter in the flickering light of the sconce, as did the man’s eyes. He turned back toward the room he had come out of, then stopped, looking toward the room where Thad hid. “Is someone there?” he called.

_ The light from the window! _ Thad realized. It would be shining through the crack in the door. He hurried out the window and down the wall, ran as fast as he could toward the street, then slowed to a walk, trying to appear casual as he found a kindly-looking man and said, “Please, sir! I’m lost. Can you tell me which way the harbor is?”

* * *

Kane leaned against the wall by the window, looking out at the orange evening light, trying not to think about the heat. The tight red jacket pulled his shoulders back uncomfortably. He was afraid, if he sat wrong, he would split every seam. “Did Lena seem odd to you? This afternoon, I mean,” he said.

“Odd how?” asked Jack. He was sitting on the edge of the bed again, walking a tiny flame across his fingers in much the same way other men might twirl a coin. The mage didn’t look up from the fire; his eyes glowed subtly in the slanted light, the barest hint of a corona, though not an obvious one.  

“Just… you know, bubbly. She was behaving very like, well, like Ruby, not to put too fine a point on it.”

“She did seem to be having a good time.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Kane said, rolling his shoulders as much as the jacket would allow. “Lena told me once that she has trouble separating other people’s feelings from her own. Seeing her with Ruby today, well, I guess it has me wondering how much control she has over the whole thing.”

The little flame vanished as Jack turned his gaze on Kane. “What are you trying to say?”

Kane raised his hands defensively. “Look, she does have feelings of her own - I truly believe that - but surely you’ve noticed? She’s… different… around different people.”

“So am I,” Jack growled.

Kane sighed, sorry he’d brought it up, and turned back to the window. 

There was a knock on the door, and when it opened before either of them could respond, Kane was surprised to see Sergeant Quincey there instead of the old servant he had expected. “Are the two of you ready?” the sergeant asked.

“As we’ll ever be,” Kane said, standing up straight.

The sergeant raised an eyebrow at Kane’s appearance, then shook his head. “Take that off,” he said, unbuckling his sword belt. He shrugged out of his own jacket, brown trimmed in darker brown like something a forester would wear, and held it out for Kane.

“What about you?” Kane said.

“Clyne,” the sergeant called to the squash-nosed guard who hovered near the door. The guard nodded, pulling off his black uniform jacket and passing it to Quincey. “I’m an officer of the guard. I can get away with wearing the uniform to dinner.” As Quincey buttoned the jacket, and belted his sword back on, Kane realized the sergeant had been wearing half of his uniform already, creased black pants beneath an ordinary shirt. Quincey checked himself in the mirror, smiling in satisfaction at what he saw there before he schooled his features again.

_ More comfortable in a uniform, _ Kane thought, remembering his earlier assessment. At the same time, he remembered something he’d heard his father say as they were approaching the manor, something about Quincey’s father being a lord. “But you’re a noble, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Don’t remind me,” Quincey said. He fumbled at his collar, removed the silver insignia pin that marked Clyne’s rank, and passed it back to the hulking guard before motioning Kane and Jack to follow him into the hall. “Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

“I still don’t see why I had to wear these shoes,” Lena said, holding the long, full skirt up so that she wouldn’t trip over it as she tottered along in shoes several inches taller than any she’d ever worn before.

“For the look of the thing, dear!” Ruby said with a trilling laugh.

Lena smiled. “What look? If I weren’t holding this skirt up, no one would ever see them! Apart from the height, I suppose...” The shoes did make her taller, but she was still too short for the black dress Ruby had lent her. Lena didn’t often wear black, but this dress was embroidered along the edges with a design of red fish that had made Lena smile, and Ruby said the color went well with her hair.

That was another thing Lena was uncertain about, the way her hair had been twisted and pinned up, making her head feel heavy and her neck feel exposed. It was a style she’d seen many ladies wear, but she had never done anything to her own hair more elaborate than tie it with a ribbon.

Ruby squeezed Lena’s shoulder in a sort of half-hug. “Don’t underestimate the height! Your young man will spend half the evening staring at you, trying to figure out what’s changed.”

It took a moment before Lena realized Ruby was referring to Jack; she felt herself blushing furiously. They’d been too busy that afternoon for Lena to speak privately with him, to ask him how he felt about Kane’s lie. He always seemed to hold himself back from her more than he opened up; shy as he was, Lena worried that any kind of forced closeness would drive him further away.

Suddenly, Ruby said, “Oh, look! Here he is!” Lena looked up from her feet and stumbled as soon as she did so. Ruby gripped her arm, but Jack was there as well, coming from a hallway on her other side, his eyes full of concern as he steadied her.

“Careful,” said Kane, behind him.

Sergeant Quincey was with them, bored again, and Lena wondered if he ever felt any other way. He smirked at Ruby after he glanced down to where the bottom of Lena’s skirt hit the floor. “How is it that neither you nor your brother had anything in your prodigious wardrobes that would fit our guests?”

Ruby giggled, playfully slapping the officer in the chest. “Oh, hush, Gabriel! It fits everywhere that counts. Wouldn’t you say, my lord Jack?”

Jack didn’t reply, avoiding eye contact with all of them. Lena felt his discomfort.

“Anyway,” Ruby said, taking Quincey’s arm and leading them down the hall. “Why are you in uniform? I thought father took you off duty to act as liaison while the Cornelians are here?”

_ Is that what everyone thinks? _ Lena wondered, knowing full well that Leiden had set Quincey as the boys’ guard dog. Quincey knew it too, for Lena felt his guilt at letting Ruby believe the misconception. She found she liked him for it, this possibility that he was too honest and honorable to take any joy in Leiden’s games. “Why wouldn’t I be in uniform?” he said, smirking rather like Kane was wont to do. “Just because I’m off duty doesn’t mean I stop being a guard.”

Ruby only laughed, changing the subject to ask him if he knew anything about this year’s Midsummer festival players.

When Ruby and Quincey were several paces ahead of them, Ruby’s words an indistinguishable melody that echoed back through the hallway, Jack bent his head closer to Lena’s, so that his scarf brushed her ear as he said, “You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” she said. “So do you. I mean, not… not lovely. You look… you look very well. Blue suits you.”

Jack cleared his throat, coloring slightly as he focused on the floor in front of him. “Thank you,” he said at last, his words short and clipped.

“You’re both hopeless,” Kane whispered behind them.

Lena flashed Kane a smile, but when she looked up at Jack again, he was still looking ahead; she didn’t think he had heard Kane’s comment. He seemed more than a little distracted, but, as usual, he held his emotions so tightly within himself that Lena could feel nothing without her soul sight. She turned her full attention to him, focusing her abilities; she could feel that he was hungry, but more than that she felt an edge of nervousness, as if he was expecting wolves to appear around the next corner. She tugged at his sleeve, and when he looked down at her, she said, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s… it’s nothing, my lady,” he said, but she saw the way his hand wandered up as he absent-mindedly checked the position of his scarf and then she knew.

“Is it…” she said, but she didn’t finish that sentence.  _ His face, _ she thought, momentarily embarrassed that she could have forgotten his scars - Jack certainly never did. He would have to show his face at dinner.  _ He must be dreading it, _ she thought.  _ Maybe it won’t be that bad... _ “Ruby,” she called to the girl walking ahead of them. “How many people do you expect will be dining with us?”

Ruby slowed her steps, waiting for Lena to catch up somewhat before she said, “It’s hard to say. No more than a dozen, I shouldn’t imagine.”

“A dozen?” said Lena.

“Well, this was all rather thrown together at short notice, you know, and with the festival going on, most people would have had other plans, but we can be sure of father’s secretary,” Ruby said, counting off on her fingers. “The undersecretaries… Talbot will bring his wife, I expect. The Hornwoods are in town for the revels - a family of four - as are Gabriel’s brothers…” Here, Lena saw Sergeant Quincey make a face. “Though I don’t think Hugh would come.”

“Thank the gods,” Quincey muttered.

“And a couple of other lords,” Ruby finished.

“Oh,” said Lena. Beside her, Jack’s nerves settled into a frenetic vibration that reminded Lena of a ringing in her ears. She wondered if he would bother to eat at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _2/3/17: The shadow thing makes no sense, but it’s true. Go back and play some of the older FF games. In several of them, Vanish/Invis leaves a shadow behind. I can only work with the source material I’m given._   
>  _I spent entirely too long coming up with a name for the large tavern at the end of Farplane Avenue. Farplane Avenue was easy: I lived in Louisiana for a time, so I based my version of Melmond pretty heavily on New Orleans (because swamp), and there’s an Elysian Fields Avenue there. But this tavern, which comes up several times over the next few chapters, needed a name. “Can I call it the Chubby Chocobo? Is that going too far?” I asked my betas. They all responded with squees and squeals and various heart emojis, so that’s what I went with._   
>  _So! big reveal in this chapter, and I got a lot of satisfaction from writing it. I’ve been hinting at Orin’s mysterious past since chapter 2. I hope you were pleased with the outcome._


	37. Show of Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Show of Power from Final Fantasy Type 0. Click[here](https://youtu.be/O88jEUYjTUY) to hear it. _

_ The Earth Cave, Twenty-five Years Ago _

When the fighting settled down - the last of those… those creatures... beaten back -  Redden stood, breathing heavily, waiting for the thudding of his heart to calm. His eyes came to rest on a body on the cave floor, a withered thing, all papery skin over bones, that only vaguely resembled a man. It hadn’t acted like one. Redden kicked at it, but it didn’t move again, a lifeless husk that had been powered entirely by evil magic, its magic now spent.

The sound of his own pulse in his ears quieted and he became aware once more of the voices of his companions. Some of these men had fought beside him when Bram placed the first seal, but others had not. It was to these that Father Bram spoke. “Crush the heads!” he was saying, bringing his hammer down with surprising violence for a white mage, particularly one of his years. The blow landed with a crunch that echoed in the still air of the cave. “They can’t rise again without heads!”

“What about…” Argus said, struggling to regain his composure. “What about them?” He gestured toward a pair of bodies, not of the creatures they had been fighting, but of their own companions, men who had journeyed there with them only to die. 

Bram sighed as he looked at the bloody figures. “Them too. If we don’t-” The old man stopped speaking as a deep-chested cough took hold of him. 

Redden went to him, casting Cure. “Lean against the wall,” he said. 

Bram did so, wheezing as the cough faded. 

Redden stood by the old man, listening to Father Bram’s uneven breathing as he watched the others deal with the bodies. “Are we deep enough?” he asked.

Bram shook his head. “Not much farther, but farther still. There’s a… a wrongness there - do you feel it? - and that is where the seal must go.”

Redden nodded. He did feel something, but he hadn’t been sure it wasn’t his own anxiety. The old white mage, who had seemed so solid, so strong, on their first trip together almost three months ago, seemed now to be struggling. The winter had been hard, and food had been scarce. Though it was only a month until spring, the cold had not let up. It had been raining when they left - only a drizzle, but near freezing - and the day’s march from Melmond to the cave had taken its toll on the old man. Redden watched him, listening to each rattling breath, worried that at any time the elderly priest might not breathe in again.  _ Don’t think like that, _ he told himself. “Rest there, Father. I’ll get the men ready to move on.”

Bram nodded.

Redden found Cid speaking to a young man who had sunk to his knees over a fallen soldier. “Up,” Cid was saying. “Up now. If we don’t finish this, he died for nothing.”  

The young man shook his head, his eyes wide and staring. 

“See to the others,” Redden said, motioning Cid away as he knelt beside the young man, a blond boy from one of the high houses. “It’s Arthur, isn’t it?” he asked.

The boy nodded, still focused on the body in front of them, an older man with the sigil of Lord Leiden on his shoulder. Perhaps he had been this boy’s guard. At fifteen, Arthur Leiden was really too young to have come along on such a dangerous trip, but the Leidens had a twisted sense of duty and pride.    

Redden appealed to that pride. “We need to move on, Arthur. We’ve nearly finished this thing. You wouldn’t have us stop with the job unfinished, would you?” He squeezed the boy’s shoulder, and the boy looked up from the gruesome corpse at last, his gaze fixing on Redden’s face.

“I don’t want to die here,” he said.

“You’re not going to die here,” Redden said. “I’ll protect you.” 

“What good can that do against creatures like this? What good are you?” the boy said.

The doubt stung. The hopelessness in that voice stung. He looked the boy in the eye, and when he spoke it was as if the words came from somewhere else. “I’m a son of Titan. And I’m going to stop this evil.” 

The boy stared at him, still seeming uncertain, but in that moment, Redden had never been more certain of anything in his life.

“Brother!” Cid called. “Come and look at this.”

Redden stood, holding a hand out to help the boy up, and the young Leiden followed him without comment, lip quivering but jaw set.

* * *

_ Melmond Harbor District, Present Day _

Thad came to a blue warehouse on a deserted street that he was certain he recognized - how many blue warehouses could there be in this city? - but when he turned the corner that he thought for sure would take him back to the docks, he found only more warehouses. He knew the harbor was nearby - he could smell it - but this was the fourth time he’d taken a wrong turn.

_ I guess it’ll be the fourth time I have to ask for directions, _ he thought.

“I believe you wanted to turn left at that last interchange, young master Shipman.”

He spun about, surprised that his hand flew to his sword even though he recognized Orin’s voice. “Jeez! You about scared my socks off!” he said.

The old monk smiled, nodding toward Thad’s swordhand. “Ah! I am pleased to see your first instinct was to reach for your weapon! This is progress.”

Thad frowned, sticking his hands in his pockets as he couldn’t think what else to do with them. “Have you been following me all this time?”

Orin nodded, smiling his wrinkled smile. “With only a little detour. This is how I know you have done well today. It is also how I know you have no sense of direction.”

“It’s a strange city!” Thad said, indignant. “None of the streets are straight, and some of them change names halfway down, and - do you know? - when you think you can find your way around by using a yellow shop as a landmark, you find three more yellow shops!  _ Yellow, _ Orin! What kind of city has yellow shops in it?”

“Hmm, these are valid points. I will concede that perhaps I judged unfairly.” He turned, walking back up the street. “Come. The smuggler we follow entered a warehouse not far from here. If we are swift, we may find a place from which to listen to his dealings and learn more of his plans.”

Thad hurried after him, scuttling sideways so as to look at the old man as they walked. “Who, Bayard? You mean to say you were tracking me and Bayard at the same time? How?”

“By coincidence, you were walking in much the same direction. When you were not becoming lost.” His smile was wide, but Thad thought his eyes became sad. “Tell me, did you discover anything on your adventure?”

“You bet I did!” Thad said, eager to show the old man how well he had done, that his lessons on the art of spying had not been wasted. “I know where the potions are! Or, I sort of do! I’m almost certain I could find my way back there! Bayard said he was going back there tonight, and I heard him talking with a thin man about sahagins - and white mages! - and there was more about that magic attack in the street! It was dark magic!”

Orin nodded, but said nothing, looking up at the buildings they passed as though checking for an unlikely attack from the roofs.

Thad looked up too, but stopped when he almost tripped. He kept quiet, but when Orin only continued watching the rooftops, he asked, “So what comes next? Do we just listen to Bayard or do we try to capture him? Oh! I know! We should go see if Kane’s back on the ship! He could help us!”

The monk shook his head. “I am afraid that our outing today may have attracted undue attention. I would not draw that attention back on our only means of escape from this city.”

Thad grimaced, remembering how close the thin man had come to noticing him. There was no way Orin could know about that, was there? But then, the monk had managed to track two people at once through the busy city; Thad could only guess what the old man knew. Shuffling his feet, he said, “I don’t think anyone got a good look at me.”

“It is nothing you did, young master Shipman. It was myself. I behaved hastily.” Orin stopped there in the middle of the street and he sighed a deep sigh. If Thad hadn’t known the monk better he would have said that the long walk through Melmond had exhausted his old bones. It was only a moment, and then he walked on. “Until I know the extent of this threat, we cannot return to the ship.”

* * *

 

It wasn’t a dining hall, more of a parlor, a wide space with high ceilings that made Jack feel tiny. Though the tall windows were open to admit a breeze, the room was crowded and stuffy, holding far more than the dozen guests Ruby had anticipated. Lord Redden was there, as were Harvey and his father, but scattered across several small seating areas or standing in groups of two or three, there were also stately-looking old men with severe-looking wives, a few younger men in expertly tailored clothes, a pair of young ladies whose brightly colored dresses - one yellow, the other purple - rivaled Seward’s house in the Blue Quarter, and a number of servants offering trays of food and drink. A party, rather than a dinner. Not that Jack found that any better.

The young men greeted Quincey, who grudgingly joined them, while Ruby waved at the girls. “Oh, Lena! Come and meet the Hornwood sisters!” she said, pulling Lena away.

_ Don’t go, _ Jack thought.  _ Don’t leave me with these people. _ But she was gone before he could force the words loose. He felt sick: his empty stomach and his clanging nerves made him feel dizzy, like his head might pop off and float away. He wondered if anyone would notice if he backed out the door and… and what? Fled the manor altogether?  _ Tempting, _ he thought.

He nearly gave in to the temptation when he noticed one of the old men staring at him. He was an altogether unremarkable man, of average height and average build, except that his ears stood out from his head rather comically. He was heading Jack’s way. Jack took a step back and would have kept going if not for the firm hand on his shoulder.

“Easy there, brother,” Kane said, holding him in place.

Jack realized then that it was Kane the man was heading toward. The man inclined his head in an almost-bow when he reached them, speaking in a nasally whine. “Young master Carmine, it’s good to see you again.”

“Master Rook, wasn’t it?” said Kane, relinquishing his hold on Jack’s shoulder as he extended a hand for the man to shake. “The undersecretary?”

“Hmm, one of them, yes,” the man said. “You’ve a good memory. I believe we only met once during my stay in Cornelia.” His smile was stiff and empty, a polite face spewing niceties he didn’t mean.

“Allow me to introduce my brother,” Kane said.

Jack held out a hand as Kane had done.

“Yes,” said Rook, glancing at Jack’s hand without taking it. “Your father mentioned him. Some sort of scholar, wasn’t it?”

Jack nodded.

“Hmm, well, it’s good that you’ve found something useful to do with yourself. Excuse me.” He turned and walked away with his nose in the air.

Kane raised an eyebrow. “What do you suppose crawled up his trousers?”

“I’ve no idea,” Jack said.

“We haven’t much use for bastards here,” said a quiet, cultured voice.

They both turned to the figure who had approached them from the side, a pale man, dressed all in black, with black hair that came down in a peak in the middle of his forehead.

Kane frowned. “What did you say?”

The man bowed. “Forgive me. I mean no offense. I was only trying to answer your question. Leiden’s made no secret of master Jack’s circumstances.” He straightened as a servant approached with a tray but shook his head at the offered food. Jack looked hungrily at it, aware of an uncomfortable gnawing in his belly, but he too waved the servant away. The man continued, “I’m afraid the laws of succession among Melmond’s high families are rather severe. It has led to - again, forgive me - bastards such as yourself having rather a questionable reputation. Personally, I prefer to form my own opinions.” He extended his hand to Jack. “Vince Pollendina, secretary to his lordship.”

Jack shook the hand, then stepped aside as Kane reached out to do so. “A pleasure,” said Kane.

“No, I rather suspect it isn’t,” said the secretary, looking about as though to be sure no one else was listening. “You’re little more than hostages, I understand.”

Jack turned to Kane. The guardsman looked as stunned as Jack felt, but then he quickly smoothed his expression into the same polite mask that Rook had been wearing. “Are you always this blunt, sir?”

“I simply cannot abide untruth,” said the secretary. He leaned in, whispering. “And the truth is this: his lordship has a bit of a grudge against your father, I’m afraid. He has no reason to make your stay a comfortable one. Tread carefully.” He bowed once more, then turned and walked toward the empty hearth, where two of the well-dressed older men stood conversing. Over his shoulder, he called, “Do tell me if there is anything you need during your visit.”

Kane’s smile held, but his eyes glinted as they did when he and Jack practiced swordplay and Jack was about to lose. “Come on,” he said.

“Where?”

“To mingle. Like well-behaved  _ guests _ .”

“No, I think I’d rather-” Jack began, but Kane didn’t let him finish.

“I didn’t ask what you’d rather,” said the guardsman, gripping his shoulder once again and propelling him forward, toward the place where Harvey stood with Quincey and the other young men.

Jack sighed. It was probably too late to flee.

* * *

Kane was disgruntled about something. Lena felt it as he went swiftly by, driving Jack ahead of him. She turned her head to watch them go, and was surprised at the guardsman’s serene expression: in contrast to what Lena knew he was feeling, his smile said he found the party delightful. Lena found he was only one among many whose emotions didn’t match their faces. The party was full of people wishing they were elsewhere, Lena included.

She sat beside Ruby on a stuffed couch, sinking down into cushions that would have been comfortable in other circumstances but which, at the moment, seemed more imprisoning than anything, impossible to escape from with either speed or grace. Across from them, on a similar couch, sat the two Hornwood sisters, a pair of dark haired girls in bright, form-fitting dresses. Lena turned back to them at the sound of Ruby’s laughter.

“And then!” said Nicole Hornwood, red-faced with laughter herself, gesturing wildly with her empty wineglass as she spoke. “She challenged him to a duel! Right there in the library!”

“You didn’t!” Ruby said, turning wide, mirthful eyes on Nicole’s sister, Beatrix.

Beatrix sighed. “I did,” she said, quiet and matter-of-fact. “And I won, too.” Older than Nicole, tall and slender as an elf, she sat in a relaxed slouch, her elbow on the arm of the sofa, propping up her chin with one hand. In her other hand, her own wineglass was nearly full. She was beyond bored, her smile a long-suffering one, as though this wasn’t the first time she had sat through Nicole’s exaggerated version of events. 

Ruby giggled. “But that’s the third suitor you’ve turned away this season! What did your father say?”

“He found the whole thing entertaining!” said Nicole, before her more reserved sister could answer. “He knew that boy only wanted the title! He said… what was it he said, Bea?” Beatrix opened her mouth, but Nicole went on, speaking in a low, gruff voice as she imitated their father. “‘How do you expect to be Lord of the Hornwood if you let yourself get beat up by some chit of a girl?’” She laughed again, too loudly to be ladylike. 

Lena felt a twinge of embarrassment from Beatrix, a grating sensation that made Lena shift in her seat. She tried instead to focus on Ruby, who seemed to enjoy the boisterous girl’s company and was having a wonderful time, but the emotions of the room echoed around Lena like a dozen people trying to converse with her at once. It made it difficult to keep up with the conversation in front of her. “I’m not sure I understand,” she said, speaking to Beatrix. “Isn’t it  _ your _ title? I thought Ruby said you were the heir?” 

Beatrix cut her a glare that sparked with indignation. 

“Lady heir,” said Ruby.

“Oh, darling!” said Nicole with a giggle, amused at Lena’s ignorance. “This isn’t Cornelia. The title passes to a male, as Titan intended.” 

A servant passed close by with a tray full of drinks in squat stemmed glasses, and Nicole signaled him over, placing her own empty glass on his tray as she took another. Beatrix rolled her eyes at her sister, but said nothing. The servant held the tray out for Lena, and she grabbed a glass herself; alcohol did nothing to block out the emotions of others, but in Lena’s experience, a glass or two made it easier not to care.    

When the servant moved on, Ruby leaned close and said, “Women can’t hold titles. Here in Melmond, if a lord has no sons, his eldest daughter is named lady heir. Whoever marries her takes her name and the title until their first child is born.”

“Whatever for?” said Lena. It seemed ridiculous, really. She’d known many women with titles: some of the high priests at White Hall were women, as was the mayor of Pravoka, and Princess Sarah would be queen when her father died whether she was married or not. Lena tried to imagine someone telling her aunt Clara that women couldn’t hold titles. The conversation would not go well.  

“That is an excellent question,” Beatrix murmured, still glaring, but not at Lena, just generally.

“It keeps the title in the high families, you see. Each of the high families can be traced back to the founders themselves,” said Nicole, beaming with pride. “Straight line of succession, yes? None of this mucking about with second sons and distant cousins and bastards and so on, like they do in other parts of the world.”

“Nicole,” said Beatrix, a warning in her tone.

Nicole ignored her, barrelling on with a drunken disregard for propriety. “How is it going to work when you marry the Carmine bastard? Will he take your name?”

Beatrix muttered something, covering her face with one hand. Ruby gasped. But Lena found it hard to be offended when she could feel the candid curiosity behind Nicole’s question. There was no malice in it. The problem, of course, was that the betrothal was a lie. Lena sipped her wine as she tried to think up a response that would neither contradict the ruse nor violate her Oath. She settled for, “I can honestly say I hadn’t given the matter any thought.”

“Really?” said Ruby, immediately snapping her mouth shut, embarrassed by the unguarded outburst.

“Aren’t you worried about your family’s reputation?” said Nicole as the muttering Beatrix took a long swig of her own drink.

“No, not so much,” Lena said. “I mean, I’m not a noble.”

“You’re not?” Ruby asked, cocking her head.

Lena sighed. “I thought you knew. I’m… well, technically... I’m only a servant. In the plainest sense of the word.”  

There was silence, a little bubble of silence. The noises of the party seemed suddenly far off across town. Ruby and Nicole stared at her, and just then Lena couldn’t feel anything from them. It was as if neither of them could decide what they thought of her announcement and their minds had come to an utter standstill while they considered their options.

Beatrix, though, reacted immediately. The older Hornwood took one look at her sister’s shocked face and made a strangled noise as she tried not to laugh. She took a drink to cover it, downing the rest of her wine in a single gulp, and smiled a real smile for the first time Lena had seen. Lena could feel her amusement, a warm, rumbling sensation like the purr of a giant kitten, a sense of relief that  _ finally _ something interesting had come along. 

* * *

Kane loosened his grip on Jack’s shoulder when he felt him wince. The mage had tried to veer away once but seemed resigned now to go where Kane pushed him. That man had set him off, but he knew it was unfair to take it out on Jack. He might give his father an earful later, but Jack was blameless in this. “Sorry,” he muttered. The mage only nodded, as though nothing Kane did to him could possibly make this situation any worse. He had that hunted look about him that he got sometimes, a pinched expression to his eyes that said he expected things to go wrong. Kane tried to offer words of comfort. “Look, I know you don’t like people, but I’ve been to parties like this one all my life. I promise you: that thing with Rook back there, that’s as bad as it gets.” 

Jack threw a sidelong glower at him, plainly dubious.

They crossed the room to where Harvey stood with Sergeant Quincey and two other men who seemed not much older. Harvey smiled a greeting, holding a plate in one hand and a skewer of meat and vegetables in the other. “There you both are! Kane, Jack, this is Logan and Victor Quincey of the Reach.” He gestured with the skewer, indicating who was who. “Gabriel’s brothers. They run the land between the Hornwood and the West Hills.”

The willow-thin Victor smiled, shaking hands with both of them. Logan, solemn of face, ignored Jack much as Rook had done, speaking only to Kane. “Well, our father runs things. Victor and I simply keep out of the way.”

Kane turned to Victor, determined to ignore Logan in turn. “Gabriel’s brothers?” he said, putting rather more emphasis on the sergeant’s given name than was necessary, taking pleasure in the glare it earned him from the man. The two looked like their brother, both with the same tawny brown hair and angular nose, but Victor was slim where Logan was built like the sergeant. “Tell me, has Gabriel always been so jaded?”

Victor barked out a laugh, playfully elbowing the sergeant in the ribs. “Oh! He has your measure, right enough!” He held a drink in one hand, and a slight slurring to his words suggested it wasn’t his first. To Kane he said, “If you think he’s bad, you should meet our elder brother. Can’t go two minutes without letting you know he’s the next lord of the Reach.”

“Victor,” the sergeant said, reproachfully. “I’m sure we can’t begin to imagine how much pressure he’s under.” 

Logan nodded. “Father was younger than Hugh is now when  _ he _ became lord.”

“That’s no excuse!” Victor went on, waving his hand as he spoke so that a bit of his drink splashed out of his cup and onto the floor. “Harvey’s set to rule the rule over the whole state, and he doesn’t act that way!”

“That’s because Harvey doesn’t take his duties seriously,” Quincey snapped.

Kane raised an eyebrow. From the way Ruby had acted around Quincey, Kane could tell he was a family friend, but the sergeant’s tone suggested his connection to the Leidens, and to Harvey in particular, ran deeper than Kane had suspected. Kane would never have spoken to Sarah like that.  

Victor laughed again, and Harvey laughed with him, not seeming at all offended. “Guilty,” the young Leiden said. “Though in my defense, it’s not as if father leaves me anything to do. He has the whole affair rather buttoned up.”

“If you’d taken over some of the undersecretaries’ duties like I’d advised you to-” Quincey began.

“Oh, don’t start that again,” Harvey said, rolling his eyes. “It’s a party, Gabriel. Try to lighten up.”

At the mention of undersecretaries, Kane exchanged glances with Jack.

Harvey smiled. “I saw that. What was that look for?”

“We ran into master Rook a moment ago,” Kane said, working to keep his expression neutral. The undersecretary’s behavior toward Jack had bothered him, but Rook wasn’t entirely to blame for Kane’s foul mood. That honor seemed fairly evenly split between his father, who had apparently kept Kane in the dark about a great many important things, and Lord Leiden, who clearly had an agenda of his own. 

Victor laughed, spilling more drink so that very little remained in his glass. “Oh, gods! I take it he was his usual cheerful self?”

“It’s best to ignore Rook,” Harvey said. “He can be a right pillock sometimes. I never have liked the man.” 

“You’re not required to like him,” said Logan. “But you should at least respect him. He performs his duties admirably. Duties which - Gabriel’s right - you should have learned by now.”

“Not you, too!” Harvey said. “I only keep you around to disagree with him.”

“Master Rook was instrumental in helping us investigate the Cathedral after the night plague,” said the sergeant, his voice a low rumble. 

“The Cathedral?” said Jack, startling Kane. The last thing he had expected was to hear the mage speak in such company. “You investigated that? What happened there?”

Kane knew what he was really asking, for he wanted to know the answer himself:  _ What happened to the white mages? _ The sergeant seemed uneasy with the question, looking down at his feet. Logan said nothing, still refusing to acknowledge that Jack was there.   

Victor scoffed, swaying drunkenly. “Those mages got what was coming to them, if you ask me. Everyone knows they’re to blame for what’s happening.” 

It was only by the barest margin that Kane held his tongue, fruitlessly hoping Jack would hold his own. The black mage said, “Excuse me?” His voice was as quiet and composed as Kane had ever heard it, but Kane knew the mage’s moods by now, and to him those two simple words sounded dangerous.

Victor kept talking, oblivious to his audience. “Everyone’s saying it. They carry that plague, you know. That’s where the Rot comes from. It’s all white mages.”

Kane held his breath, wondering how Jack would respond. Would he lose his temper again? Would he lose his hold on the aether? The mage still wore Lord Redden’s sword, and Kane could see his hand closing around the hilt. He was either struggling for control, or planning to run Victor through with the blade. Jack’s eyes remained expressionless.

It was the sergeant who spoke next. “I’ll not hear one word spoken against white mages,” he said, his voice a quiet whisper on par with Jack’s as he stared at his brother. “Not. One. Word.” 

“Suit yourself.” Victor shrugged, raising his glass to his lips, seeming surprised to find it empty. He looked about the room, his gaze settling on a servant with a tray of drinks several paces away, and wandered off in that direction, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind him.

Harvey cleared his throat. “Well, that was… Anyway…” He shook his head, as though to free himself of the awkward moment, then, his hands still full between his plate and the half-eaten skewer of food, he elbowed Kane lightly on the arm. “You two haven’t eaten yet! Come and make yourselves a plate.”

Kane nodded, knowing the others had dropped the matter. It was what you did at these parties. Bahamut knew he’d been to enough of them, growing up in the castle. He followed Harvey toward a small side table against one wall that held an assortment of dishes, and Logan walked with him. “Harvey tells me you’re in the Cornelian guard corps?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Kane said, finding himself unable to continue ignoring the man if he was going to speak to Kane directly. They were across the room before he realized Jack hadn’t followed him.

* * *

Jack watched them go, sighing to find himself alone, until the sound of a clearing throat reminded him he wasn’t. He turned to face Sergeant Quincey, the one person in the room he didn’t want to be alone with. The sergeant was watching him, perhaps waiting for him to say something, but all he said was, “Sergeant.”

“Carmine,” said Quincey. “First time in Melmond?”

“No,” said Jack, in case the sergeant was testing him. Though the scarf caused less comment in public than his scars would have, it wasn’t exactly common for a man to go about with his face covered all the time; as many weeks as Jack had spent in this city, it wouldn’t be hard for Quincey to have found someone who remembered seeing him in the spring. “There’s a Leifenish scholar here I’ve visited before.”

Quincey nodded. They lapsed into silence, both of them looking out at the activity in the room. Kane let Logan steer him off toward some lord and his wife. Redden stood with Leiden, looking miserable as he spoke with Rook and two men. Near one of the windows, Lena sat on a couch with Ruby and the other girls. Her back was to him, but he heard her laugh. No one approached Jack or the sergeant, not even the servants with their trays, though he could see people glancing at him as they whispered behind their hands.  _ Perhaps being a “bastard” isn’t all that bad, _ he thought.  _ If it means I don’t have to talk to anyone… _

He nearly swallowed his own tongue when Quincey said, “What happened on Farplane Avenue?”

“Pardon?” said Jack, thinking,  _ He knows. He knows. Gods, he knows. _

“I was tracking you through the city this morning. You didn’t see me. I lost sight of you after that magical attack. I imagine you Cornelians are used to to this sort of thing, but it was the first time we’ve seen anything like that outside the lower town.”

_ Didn’t see…? He thinks we didn’t see him? _ Jack couldn’t seem to make sense of what Quincey was saying, so overwhelmed was he with relief that he wasn’t caught after all. He tried to feign ignorance. “You… you were… following us?”  _ Gods, why won’t my mouth work? _

Quincey nodded again. “Until everyone started running from the disturbance. Did you see anything?” He sounded desperate.

Jack’s heart hammered in his ears. “N-no,” he said at last. “No, I’m sorry.”

“Confound it,” Quincey muttered. “Dark mages attacking in broad daylight and no one saw anything. Clyne says they interviewed half the business district while I was stuck here with you.”

“H-how-” Jack said, pausing to get a grip on his sudden stutter. “How do you know it was a dark mage?”

“I’ve felt their spells before. Leiden told you about the Brotherhood? I’m part of the investigation team.” He sighed. “Or, I was, until he set me to babysitting you.”

_ Great, _ thought Jack bitterly.  _ Any number of guards Leiden could have set to spy on us, and we get the one who knows about dark mages. That’s… just great. _ Out loud, he said, “Isn’t the investigation more important than watching a pair of Cornelians? Couldn’t someone else watch us?”

The sergeant blushed at that. He actually blushed. “No one else is the lowest ranking officer of noble birth. How would Melmond look if Cornelia heard we’d kept the sons of their third council lord under guard?”

“So… officially you’re not supposed to be watching us? You’re meant to play at being our friend?”

Quincey nodded. “Until you give me reason to do otherwise.”

Across the room, Victor shouted, “Gabriel! Come and settle a debate!”

“Excuse me,” said Quincey, brushing past Jack.

He watched Quincey stalk off past the couch where Lena sat in that black dress, her unruly curls coming loose from the hairpins. She laughed again, a high, clear sound, bright and beautiful. Jack let out a sigh of relief. At least one of them was faring well in this crowd.

* * *

Lena thought of swimming as the emotions of the party crowd pressed in. She thought of fish, and the ocean, and long walks in the rain, determined to keep a smile plastered to her face if it killed her. Her laugh sounded fake in her ears. 

Ruby’s smile likewise seemed painted on; her embarrassment burned hot and thick, and Lena had to struggle to stay where she was rather than move as far from that heat as the couch would allow.  _ She’s just learned she spent her day befriending a servant,  _ Lena thought.  _ I suppose it’s hard for her. _

It had not been hard for Beatrix Hornwood. Her smile was warm and genuine.  _ You’re like me, _ it said.  _ Someone who doesn’t fit. _ She’d spent the past several minutes telling Lena how her father had taught her math by having her review the accounts from their lumber yard. “I was six when the sword lessons started. I think he’d finally given up hope of ever having a son.”

Nicole rolled her eyes at her sister. The younger Hornwood had gone quiet, and Lena could tell she was offended at her presence there. Or, she had been. By now Nicole’s emotions were a fuzzy blur as she worked her way through yet another drink. 

Lena sipped at her own wine. “It just seems strange to me that you can’t inherit the title, even after your father taught you everything about running your estate. I can understand how frustrating that must be.” 

“It bothers me more at these parties. I’m supposed to show off for potential suitors,” Beatrix said, absent-mindedly picking at where her violet dress fit her too loosely in the bust.  _ It’s not hers! _ Lena realized, looking between her and Nicole, whose yellow dress, Lena noticed now, was cut in an almost identical style. It was not the style of a woman who spent most of her time training at swords and tramping through the Hornwood forests west of the city. Beatrix brightened, her smile growing mischievous. “What I really need is to marry a large, muscular idiot so I can run things in all but name.”

Nicole nodded. “Mother says that was how the Westens planned to do it.” 

“Oh! I heard about that!” said Ruby, interest overcoming her embarrassment. She turned to Lena and said, “Lady Westen was betrothed to Lord Carmine’s brother! He died before the wedding!”

“Carmine! I hadn’t thought about him!” said Beatrix, craning her head around to look toward the spot where Kane stood with Harvey and another young man. “Is Kane spoken for?”

Lena blushed. “Well, I, um, I wouldn’t say he’s an idiot.” 

“No, of course you wouldn’t. Not if he’s to be your brother.” Beatrix laughed. “So how did you and master Jack meet? I’m sure that’s a lovely story.”

“Um…” Lena said, caught off guard by the excited anticipation she felt from both Ruby and Nicole. It would seem the two were both hopeless romantics. “There’s not much to tell. We, um…” She opted for the truth, if a truncated version of it. “We sort of ran into each other in the market square. We’ve mostly been together ever since.” Praying to Leviathan that the other girls wouldn’t ask questions, she sought for a way to change the subject, then, in a flash of inspiration, said, “He bought me a mask when we arrived this morning. A festival mask?”

“That’s so sweet!” said Ruby, folding her hands over her heart. “We’ll have to take you to the plays so you can wear it!”

“I’m afraid neither of us know much about the Midsummer festival. Perhaps you could tell me more?”

“Of course we could!” said Ruby, her earlier embarrassment all but gone now. “What would you like to know?”

Lena smiled. Perhaps this party wouldn’t kill her after all.

* * *

For probably the fifth time, Kane glanced around, but Jack remained alone in the corner where he had left him.  _ Safe enough, _ Kane thought. He found he was more concerned about Lena. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d flicked his gaze toward her, assuring himself she was still there. Nobody here knew what she was, but Harvey and Logan had quietly explained that Victor’s opinion of white mages was a popular one in the city. Kane hadn’t been able to work the conversation around to what people might do to a white mage if they found one, but he suspected the prospects were not good.

Only half listening to Harvey go on about some sword fight he had witnessed, Kane handed his empty plate to a passing servant then watched Lena. She seemed to be enjoying herself. One of the girls with her, dark haired and darkly tanned, as if she worshipped the outdoors, threw a smile their way, and Kane wondered if it was for him until Logan chuckled, raising his glass to her. 

“What…?” Harvey said, following Logan’s gaze, then looked back at Logan through narrowed eyes. “Beatrix Hornwood? Really?”

“Mmm hmm,” Logan said into his glass as he drank.

Harvey scoffed. “Didn’t she throttle you in the training yard that one time?”

“Yes, she did,” Logan said, seeming for all the world to relish the memory. The girl crooked her finger in a “come hither” gesture, smiling wickedly, and Logan’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “Excuse me,” he said, walking quickly away.

“Idiot,” said Harvey. 

When Kane looked back, he found his father approaching, wearing a relaxed smile that Kane knew from experience was not as nice as it appeared. He could see Lord Leiden some paces behind, caught up in deep conversation with one of the other lords. 

“Ah, Lord Carmine! Are you enjoying the party?” said Harvey.

“Very much,” Lord Redden said. He gestured toward a man by the hearth, away from Leiden, not at all in the direction he had come from. “That master Talbot was just showing off his new dagger. Stone Coast steel. A lovely weapon.”

Harvey’s smile broadened. “Really? That does sound interesting. I think I’ll go have a look. Kane?”

“He’ll be along,” said Redden, resting a hand on Kane’s shoulder. “I’d like a word with him first.”

Harvey nodded and walked away.

When he was gone, Kane said, “Father, what have you-” 

Lord Redden cut him off, speaking quietly. “Hush. We don’t have much time before Leiden comes. Listen to me. There are things you don’t know.”

“That’s an understatement!” Kane hissed, shrugging out from under his father’s hand. “Why didn’t you tell me that the lord of Melmond had it in for you? That would have been useful to know before we got here!”

“I’m sorry about that. I should have told you. I was ashamed.”

“ _ You _ were ashamed? How do you think I feel right now? If anything happens to Lena here, it will be my fault!” He wondered again how he would explain himself to Sarah. He could no longer remember why he’d been so determined for all of them to leave the ship. 

“Kane, listen to me, damn it! There’s no time.” Redden looked over his shoulder. Leiden was still talking with the other man, but he glanced toward Kane and his father, his smile full of teeth and threats. Redden huffed out a breath, pushing his white hair out of his face, and for a moment he looked so beaten that Kane was surprised into silence. Redden reached out for him again, gripping the back of his neck and pulling him in closer, whispering. “Whatever they tell you, whatever you hear, know that I wanted the best for you. These people… they’re not on our side, son. They’ll bleed you dry if it serves their own ends.”

Kane tried to pull away, but his father held firm, expression so serious that it frightened him. Redden didn’t loosen his grip until Leiden approached them.  

“You see, Redden? Your boys are getting on fine,” said Leiden, still smiling.

“This one is,” Redden said, gesturing to Kane before looking toward Jack in his corner. 

Leiden chuckled. “You can check on the other after you’ve paid your respects to Lord Ipsen.” He nodded toward a man who sat in one of the chairs nearest the table where Kane had got his food.

“I keep telling you this isn’t a state visit, Arthur,” Redden said, scowling.

Leiden laughed out loud at that. “I don’t care what kind of visit you think this is, as long as you’re seen by the right people.” 

Lord Redden hesitated, looking between Leiden and Kane, then turned, muttering under his breath as he left them alone. Leiden smirked at his retreating back. 

_ Not on our side, _ Kane thought. He considered walking off without speaking to the Melmond lord, no matter how rude it would be, but he could see his father across the room bowing politely to Lord Ipsen and making pleasantries.  _ If that’s how we’re doing this… _ he thought. “This is a lovely party, Lord Leiden,” he said.

Leiden’s eyes narrowed, but his smile remained. “Thank you. Tell me, how do you and your brother find your rooms?”

“Our rooms?” Kane asked, surprised. For some reason, he hadn’t expected Leiden’s small talk to be quite this small. “They’re… they’re fine.”

“Good, good. I’m glad you find them suitable. Those were your father’s rooms when he was young.”

“My father’s…?” Kane’s eyes returned to Lord Redden, who glanced quickly his way before focusing on Lord Ipsen again. Kane turned back to Leiden.  _ He’s not on our side, _ he reminded himself, but he found he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “I wasn’t aware that he grew up here.”

“Of course. He and your uncle were Lord Westen’s wards.”

Kane frowned. He knew that name.  _ Westen… Jayne Westen… the queen, whose father was the last Lord of Melmond.  _ “Father never mentioned that,” he said.

Leiden chuckled again. “Surely he had his reasons.” A servant passed by with a tray of pastries, and he grabbed one, eating with apparent relish. 

Kane waited, using the lull in conversation to try to make sense of what he’d just heard. Leiden might be lying, but what would be the point? There was nothing to stop Kane from going to his father and asking about it.  _ He said there were things I didn’t know… _ Kane had never had reason to believe his father had been raised among nobility. Lord Redden didn’t talk about his past; Kane knew he’d grown up in Melmond, but he’d always been under the impression his father had been a man of the city - a tradesman, perhaps. Kane’s mother had been a city girl, a milliner’s apprentice, before she married the court bard. She’d spoken freely of her own childhood; somehow, Kane had always assumed his father’s had been more of the same. 

Leiden cleared his throat, pulling Kane back from his thoughts. He could see that the man was pleased to have disconcerted him, was enjoying watching him squirm.  _ Not on our side, _ he thought again.  _ Not on our side at all. _

Leiden never stopped smiling. “Did he never tell you that your uncle was very nearly Lord of Melmond?”

* * *

Lena knew him for one of Sergeant Quincey’s brothers before Ruby told her. They looked just alike, with the same straight, pointed nose that would have looked like a bird’s beak on a slimmer man but seemed handsome on the square-jawed Quinceys. They even cut their hair the same way, short in the back and spiky in front. Inside though, the brothers seemed to have very little in common, for despite Logan’s subdued smile, Lena could feel excitement exuding from him like a beacon as he crossed the room toward them. She had only ever felt a pervading sense of boredom from the young sergeant. 

“Lady Hornwood,” he said, bowing low. “Miss Hornwood, Miss Leiden, Miss.” He inclined his head toward each of the other girls, sparing a short, sharp nod for Lena, before turning the full glow of his ardor on Beatrix again. 

“Logan,” Beatrix said, her smile gorgeous, her mood annoyed. “Pull up a chair.”

“Thank you, but I rather like the look of this couch,” he said, nodding at the space between Beatrix and her sister.

“Oh, of course. We’ll make room,” said Beatrix, standing, crossing to the other couch to sit between Lena and Ruby, leaving the cushions beside Nicole entirely empty. 

Logan blinked. “Ah, thank you,” he said, taking the seat she’d left for him. Lena felt the shadow of his disappointment, followed by a little sunbeam of hope. “What did you wish to speak to me about?”

“I didn’t,” Beatrix said, oblivious to the lightshow her words were causing, for Logan’s face remained unchanged. “Nicole wanted to talk to you.”  

Nicole nodded. “I just thought you’d like to know we had word from cousin Ashelia!”

Lena could tell Nicole expected something, some kind of reaction from Logan, but the broad-shouldered man gave off only a mild interest in the news. He cocked his head, flashing Nicole a small smile. “Did you? Victor will be glad to hear it.” He looked about the room, and when he spotted the slim man standing beside Sergeant Quincey, he gave a piercing whistle and waved the two of them over. 

“No! Don’t call him over here!” Nicole grimaced, too late to stop him. “She can’t marry Victor. He’s far too loud for her.”

Logan chuckled. “And your sweet cousin’s too quiet for me. Give it up, Nic.”

“You’re so stubborn, Logan!” Nicole snorted as the man and the sergeant came toward them. 

Lena could feel the sergeant’s boredom when he was still several paces away, but from the slender, smiling Victor, she could sense very little even when he reached them, his emotions muted by a drunken buzz. Though he was still upright and walking straight, he was clearly deeper into his cups than Nicole was, the kind of man her aunt would describe as a “happy drunk”. “What’s this?” he said, grinning stupidly at first Logan then Beatrix. “Another duel? Did you need me to be your second?”

Logan was amused, but Lena felt Beatrix do a sort of mental flinch. “Nothing like that,” said Logan. “Nicole was just telling me they’ve heard from Ashe.”

“Oh? So she reached Cornelia in one piece?” said Victor. 

“She did, and she says she’s settling in nicely,” said Nicole, going on to describe the contents of her cousin’s letter, something about how Ashelia had been sent away to serve as companion to an elderly relative. 

Lena didn’t hear all of it, too distracted by what she was feeling. Victor seemed enthusiastic on the surface, but beneath the alcoholic haze, Lena sensed nothing more from him than the same mild interest his older brother had shown. Ruby seemed more intrigued in the news than he did, asking a number of questions that Nicole was quick to answer.

But it was the young sergeant who surprised Lena the most. As soon as Logan said the girl’s name, Gabriel Quincey’s attention had gone taut like a rigging line when the wind takes the sails. He didn’t speak, only stared out the window into the deepening night, listening intently but pretending not to be.

“What was it Nicole was saying about marriage?” Lena whispered, leaning closer to Beatrix. “Is she playing match-maker for this cousin of yours?”

Beatrix shook her head. “The match is already made. Our uncle has been Lord Quincey’s best friend since childhood. They have it all worked out: Ashelia is to marry one of the Quincey boys, but they didn’t bother to specify which.”

Lena nodded, but this was new territory for her. She knew arranged marriages were common among the nobility, but she hadn’t known anyone who had one. Well, the king and queen of Cornelia, perhaps, but she could tell they loved each other and, anyway, she didn’t truly know them. She wondered if the far away cousin Ashelia had a preference, if perhaps her heart sang at the mention of one particular Quincey brother over the others or if she only regarded them with the same passing amusement Lena felt from Logan and Victor. 

She realized the conversation had gone quiet. Nicole was staring at her, and soon the others were as well. “You’re making a face, Miss Lena. Pray tell us what’s on your mind,” said Nicole.

“I’m sorry!” Lena said. “I was just thinking… This arrangement between your uncle and Lord Quincey seems strange to me. Does the girl have any say in the outcome, or are you to work it out between the three of you?” she asked, addressing her question to the Quinceys. 

“Four of us,” said Victor. “There’s Hugh as well, though he doesn’t want her.”

That had been rude, somehow. Lena didn’t know why, but she felt shock and discomfort from the others. “Victor,” Logan growled. 

“Arrangements like theirs are common among the high families,” said Ruby, ignoring Victor as thoroughly as Beatrix was ignoring Logan. “More common than what you have, I daresay.”

“What I have?” Lena asked, sipping at the wine that had gone too warm to be enjoyable. 

Ruby smiled. “You know: a love match! Your young man is quite taken with you. Even with half his face covered, I could see that clear enough.”

“You could?” She took another sip by way of hiding behind her glass.

“Of course! I saw how you looked at each other all afternoon. Don’t you agree, Gabriel?”

“I wasn’t watching-” the sergeant began, but Nicole interrupted him.

“Why does he wear that thing, anyway? It looks dreadfully stifling.”

Lena froze with her mouth full of wine. They were staring at her again, waiting patiently and curiously for her answer, all but the sergeant who knew what the scarf covered.

She choked when Victor asked, “Is it true he’s deformed?”

Ruby gasped. “Victor!”

Lena coughed, spilling what was left in her glass all over the borrowed black dress. Her eyes found the sergeant’s, and she knew she couldn’t keep the accusation from her glare. 

Sergeant Quincey’s face showed his surprise. “I never said a word!” he said quickly.

Victor chuckled. “Gabriel never tells me anything. I had it from Corporal Wilhelm who heard it from the constable who escorted you in. They say under that mask, he’s hideous.”

“He isn’t,” Lena said, looking over her shoulder at Jack where he stood harmlessly in a corner, alone. 

When she turned back, the others were still watching her, and she could feel curiosity from the lot of them. Appalled as they were by Victor’s questions, they all wanted to know. She was struck by the hypocrisy of it: the polite behavior on the surface when they were all the same as Victor underneath. It was like lying, not only to each other but to themselves. She faced Victor when she said, “There are some scars. They’re not as bad as all that.”

“I thought it must be something,” Victor said. “He wouldn’t have settled for a servant otherwise. Even the bastard son of a lord can generally do better than that.” He raised his glass for a long drink, but the sergeant snatched it out of his hand, sending red drops flying. 

“Clearly you’ve had enough,” Gabriel said over Victor’s protests.

And that was too much for Lena, for it wasn’t that the sergeant disagreed with what his drunken brother had said, only with how he had said it out loud. She wondered what she might hear from Logan, or Beatrix, or Ruby, if they too had had as much wine as the slender Victor. “Excuse me,” she said, standing, suddenly wanting very much to be with her real friends rather than these well-dressed nobles. 

As she left them, she heard Beatrix say, “Logan, I should take my brother home if I were you.”

She didn’t look back.

* * *

Jack leaned against the wall and he watched people. Nearby, close enough that he caught snatches of their conversation, a pair of older women spoke excitedly about some new dressmaker. They stopped at a commotion near the entrance: the sergeant and Logan were manhandling a protesting Victor out the door. Farther on, Redden sat talking with an older man, rolling his eyes as he apparently disagreed with whatever was being said. Kane was with Leiden; they stood with two other lords, along with that Rook fellow. Jack didn’t see the secretary anywhere, and he wondered about that, for he had a clear view of the door and he hadn’t seen the pale man leave. Servants came and went through a service door in the far wall; perhaps the secretary had gone that way?

Near Lord Redden’s seat, a table beside the service door held plates of vegetables, both cooked and raw, constantly being refilled by an attentive maid. Jack’s eyes kept drifting back to the food. He didn’t know how long he’d been staring at it when he became aware of someone at his side and turned to find Lena there.

“My lady,” he said. “Had enough of the Hornwoods?”

She smiled up at him, but she seemed sad. “They’re alright, actually. But then the Quinceys joined us. It was too crowded over there.”

He opened his mouth to say the Quinceys had gone, but snapped it closed again when her tone of voice sank in. Something must have happened to upset her. “It is rather more people than I expected,” he said as he glanced at the two older women. They were no longer discussing the dressmaker. They were looking slantwise at Lena, and amidst their mutterings to each other, Jack could just make out the words “servant” and “scandalous”. He glared at them until they wandered away. Lena raised an eyebrow at him as though he’d done something foolish. He cocked his head toward where Ruby and the two girls sat arguing on the couch. “Did they treat you well?”

“Fine,” she said, wiping a hand across her eyes. “Nicole, she’s the one in yellow, seemed put off by my status, but the other, Beatrix, didn’t mind.”

“Good for Beatrix,” Jack said, but he noted she hadn’t mentioned how the Quinceys had behaved. They settled into a comfortable silence, just the two of them. No one approached them, though Jack continued to catch people furtively glancing his way. When a few more moments passed without comment from Lena, he said, “Are you going to tell me what’s troubling you?”

She shook her head, eyes fixed on the floor.

He let her be, though he resolved to ask the sergeant some very direct questions when next they met. For a time, he was content to stand beside her, watching people circle the room. His eyes kept returning to the food, and his stomach rumbled; he hoped Lena couldn’t hear it. He watched as Lord Redden stood, made himself a plate, and headed toward them.

“Son,” the bard said with a hint of a smile but a withering tone.

Jack’s tone wasn’t much better. “Father.”

“Quite a mess we’re in.”

“Yes, I’d noticed.”

Redden held the plate out to him, and for a moment Jack stared at the little pile of olives and sliced tomatoes in incomprehension - he couldn’t eat  _ here  _ \- but then Redden spoke again, his voice quiet. “Might as well do it now, lad.”

“No,” Jack said.

Redden sighed. “That guard who escorted us in hasn’t kept quiet about what he saw. Most of these people have already heard about you, and I promise the rumors look worse than you do.” 

Jack shook his head. “I’ll wait.”

“For how long? We could be days here. You can’t give up eating altogether.”

“Try me.” 

Redden handed the plate to Lena, who took the offering with a look of wide-eyed confusion. He clasped Jack by the shoulder, leaning in for what must have looked, on the outside, like a fatherly embrace, and he whispered directly into Jack’s ear. “The more time they spend looking at you, the less time they’ll spend wondering about her.” He stepped back, patting Jack’s shoulder before he walked away.

Jack looked down at Lena, at her confused expression. He looked at the plate of food and found that his appetite had gone, replaced by a cold, numb feeling in his stomach. 

“What did he say to you?” Lena asked. “Jack?”

He shook his head. He tried to take a deep breath but it caught in his throat.  _ For Lena, _ he told himself, reaching up to unwind the scarf. 

His fingers felt leaden, but he managed to loosen it enough that the soft folds sank down around his neck. He knew when the first person got a good look at the scars from the way the silence spread through the room, followed by whispers that rasped like stinging sand against tender skin. 

He saw people looking his way, no longer sneaking glances at him but openly staring, and he tried to keep his own gaze focused on the food in Lena’s hands. His face felt like it was on fire. His left hand fell to the hilt of the sword he wore and he fought against a sudden and overwhelming urge to Teleport away.

“Jack,” Lena said, moving in front of him. “Look at me.” 

He lifted his eyes to her face, then to the olive she held out for him, and when he didn’t take it from her she pressed it right to his lips. He opened his mouth, taking it in, but he couldn’t taste it; his tongue felt dusty and dry. He chewed and chewed, but his throat seemed to have closed up when he tried to swallow. 

“Pretend I’m saying something very interesting,” Lena said, offering him a slice of tomato this time. “These people don’t matter.”

Jack couldn’t say how long they stood like that, pretending to converse, Lena handing him small bites like he was a baby bird, or some exotic pet to be tempted with fine morsels. He focused on her. He knew there were other people in the room, could feel their eyes on him like a physical blow, but his ears rang so that he couldn’t hear any of the noises of the party. He took the food from Lena when she handed it to him, chewing and swallowing mechanically, struggling to keep it down.

He only looked up when a shadow fell across him, Kane standing close with an unreadable look on his face. “Leiden’s excusing us,” he said shortly. “Let’s go.”

Jack managed not to run on his way out of the room, but it was a near thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _3/3/17: Poor little lost Thad. I know I said I based Melmond on New Orleans, but there’s clearly a bit of Baton Rouge in there too (I’m looking at you, Coursey Blvd! How many names does one street need?)._
> 
> _This is the longest chapter so far. If I was still posting on a weekly schedule, I definitely would have had to split this up! But I really wanted to get the dinner party done in a single chapter so we could move on. I threw a lot of information at you here, but there’s some Game of Thrones level intrigue going on in Melmond! (Or, there would be, if I was a better writer. This is my first book, after all.) Reader Draen, who is awesome, pointed out (nicely!) that we’re taking a long time to get to the Earth Cave. I have nothing to say in my defense. I really thought this story would be shorter when I started it. I’m as stumped as you are, Draen!_
> 
> _Shout out to my Beta Bestie, Dizzy, for helping with that last scene. Jack is my baby, and I hate to hurt him. By the time I got to that scene, I was so done with this (very long) chapter that I couldn’t make myself do it. Dizzy took my rough and disgusting draft and turned it into complete sentences. So we can blame her for hurting our bae (j/k, Dizzy! We love you!)._


	38. Moonlight Wandering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Moonlight Wandering from Crisis Core Final Fantasy VII. Click[here](https://youtu.be/6OjDgokYgy8%20) to hear it. _

_The Earth Cave, Twenty-five Years Ago_

They found Cid farther on with a handful of soldiers, each holding a torch or a lantern. The cave broadened out to a wide room here: truly a room, for the floor was polished, smooth, and level, though Redden couldn’t see the distant walls in the dark. Ahead of them, unseen creatures scuttled, growling, visible only as an occasional flash of eyes, but none attacked them now. Redden worried that they were rallying their forces for another charge.   

Cid stood over what looked like a square pedestal, chipped at the corners. The hilt of a sword stuck out of the top, its jeweled pommel gleaming by the flickering torchlight. It looked new, bright, as if it should be hanging above the mantle in Lord Westen’s study, a ceremonial blade to be worn on feast days. It didn’t look like a sword that had been moldering away in a cave for uncounted years. “What in Titan’s name is this doing here?” Redden asked.

“That’s what I was hoping to ask you,” said Cid. “Do you sense anything from it? Is it evil?”

Redden closed his eyes and concentrated on the aether. He found nothing unusual around the sword. Delving deeper, he felt nothing unusual _within_ the sword. Despite its flawless appearance, he couldn’t find anything about it to distinguish it from an ordinary blade. “It’s… it’s fine. Just a sword.”

“It’s not going to curse me if I draw it?” Cid asked.

“I don’t think so,” said Redden.

“Good enough for me.” Cid smirked, closed his hand around the hilt, and tugged. There was a moment’s resistance, but then the blade came free with a clear, ringing “snick”. It seemed to glow, magnifying and throwing back the lantern light. There was a shriek from the creatures in the darkness just on the edge of sight, followed by the sounds of their scrabbling as they fled.

“What did you do?” came the voice of Bram behind them.

Cid stood with the sword in his hand, face guilty. “I’m sorry, Father. Was it wrong?”

“No!” said Bram wonderingly. “On the contrary! It would seem that you’ve cleared the way!” He stepped forward on shaky legs. When he grasped Redden’s shoulder in a companionable gesture, Redden tried to ignore how heavily the old man leaned on him. “Just there, Cid,” he said, pointing. “Create a perimeter for us. Your brother and I have a ritual to perform.”

* * *

_Melmond Manor, Present Day_

She could feel Jack. The emotions he usually kept squirrelled away deep inside were right on the surface tonight, and foremost among them was shame: a heartbreaking, agonizing shame so sharp that Lena hadn’t been surprised to see him stagger as he hurried away, leaving her behind in his need to flee.

She followed, still carrying the plate she’d been holding, falling into step beside Kane as the gap between them and Jack widened. “Why would he do that?” Kane asked, and she could feel that beneath his concern for his friend, he was angry. “What was he thinking?”  

“I wish I knew.”

They were nearly to the door when Ruby reached them. She stood close as she said, “Don’t leave with them. It’s not proper. You’ll only cause more comment.”

“We don’t care about that,” Kane said sharply.

“Kane,” Lena said, for she could feel that Ruby was worried for her and spoke out of kindness. She touched Kane lightly on the arm, trying to soothe his own worries through the contact. “I’ll be alright. Go on.”

He looked between her and the door, uncertain, then sighed and hastened after the mage.

“We need only wait a few minutes,” Ruby said, guiding Lena by the elbow back toward the couch where they had been sitting together before. The other couch was vacant.

“Did the Hornwoods leave?” Lena asked.

“Yes, shortly after…” Ruby trailed off.

“After they saw?” Lena finished.

Ruby nodded.

They sat in silence, Ruby’s embarrassment glowing like a candle in a dark room. It seemed more prominent as other guests began to leave, taking their emotions with them. Less distracted now, Lena became aware of her own hunger. She hadn’t eaten anything yet. She looked down at the plate in her lap - mostly full, for Jack had eaten like a mouse - and willed herself to eat a few bites. She hadn’t eaten much when, nibbling an olive from between her fingers, she thought of Jack, the feel of his lips grazing those same fingers as he ate what she offered him. She sat frozen for a moment with her hand to her mouth, feeling herself blush, until a maid came up to her and said, “Can I take your plate, miss?” Lena nodded, no longer hungry.

Not much later, she walked with Ruby through the halls of the manor, upstairs toward the rooms where she and the boys would be staying. She felt empty, as empty as the echoing halls, now that the party guests were gone and their feelings were no longer pressing in around her. She could still feel traces of them, like a layer of grease left in a pan, a thick film that fogged her view of the world, but that world seemed smaller and easier to bear in the absence of other people. She felt guilty over it. She loved people - as a white mage, it was her duty to love people - but she had always found them easier to love in small numbers.    

As they walked, Ruby said, “I’m so sorry, Miss Lena.”

“What for?” Lena asked.

“For all of it! For Nicole, and Victor - especially Victor! - and…” She sighed. “And for me, too. I didn’t react well when you said you were a servant. But that shouldn’t matter, should it? You and I had such fun today, didn’t we?”

“We did.” Lena smiled, trying to put the girl at ease.

“I’m sorry for the rest of it, too,” said Ruby, frowning. “I don’t care what people were saying about your young man. It was very brave of him to show his face like that! If he’s half as gallant as his father, he’s quite a catch, no matter how he looks.” She hesitated, her curiosity warring with her guilt so that Lena knew what she would ask next. “How… how did it happen?”

Lena shook her head. “I don’t know the details. I only know he was very young. He lost his mother in that fire. He still has nightmares about it.”

“That poor boy!” Ruby said. Lena could feel her sincerity. “Oh, that poor boy.”

They reached the third floor, passing a pair of guards who stood watch on the stairs. Lena could feel Kane inside one of the rooms nearby, still angry about something, but Ruby walked on, stopping in front of a door at the end of the hall. “Father said you’d be staying here,” she said. “Kane and Jack are just there. I’m not sure where he’s put Lord Carmine, but I can find out for you.”

“Thank you,” Lena said. “Truly, thank you. I’m sure you’re not accustomed to… to servants and bastards imposing on your hospitality. You’ve been very kind.”  

Ruby smiled. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

The room was small and spare, holding only a bed and a side table with hardly any space left. Her bag was on the bed, fetched from the ship at some point during the afternoon. She sat on the narrow mattress, pulling the bag into her lap as she dug into it, wondering which of the crew had packed it for her and if they would have remembered her comb. She found everything except her white robe. Either the crewman in question had been especially astute, or Lord Redden’s instructions had specifically forbade its inclusion.

She suspected the latter, because beneath the green servant’s dress she’d worn in Elfheim, she found the book Aryon had given her before she left there. An astute crewman would surely have known to leave that behind. It was written in Leifenish, so she knew most people wouldn’t realize it was a white magic tome, not unless they recognized an aether diagram at first glance. Still, she’d rather not leave it lying around.   

She looked up at the sound of footsteps outside, noticing, as she did so, the bell that hung beside the door. _A servant’s room,_ she thought, imagining Lord Leiden having a laugh about sticking her in servants’ quarters after all. She felt Lord Redden approaching and called out, “Come in,” just as his first knock landed.

He stuck his head in, looking briefly about the space before he spoke to her. “Small enough?”

She shrugged. “It’ll do.”

“Well, don’t get too comfortable. You’re sleeping in Jack’s room,” he said.

She gaped at him, her mouth working as she tried, unsuccessfully, to formulate a response.

Redden blanched, his eyes widening. “I meant Jack will share with Kane. For Bahamut’s sake, what do you take me for?” He turned and walked down the hall toward the room where she had sensed Kane before. She shouldered her pack and scurried after him.

He was just opening the door when Lena reached it. Inside, she found a much larger room than the one she had been given: the bed alone was easily as large as that had been. Jack sat upon it, but stood when he saw her. He moved sluggishly. He was covered again, but what she could see of his face was pale; the party had obviously taken a toll on him.

Kane stood by the window, looking out, but he turned to face them. He and Jack both had stripped off the stifling jackets they’d worn to the party, and Kane was left with a white shirt, short sleeves that left his crossed arms mostly bare.

“Hello,” Lena said, feeling suddenly awkward, unsure of what to say.

“Sit,” said Redden. “We need to talk.”

“I’d say we do,” said Kane. He glared at his father. He sounded normal, but Lena could feel his mind roiling, even from the doorway. “Which room was yours? Was it this one? Or the one next door?”

Redden held his son’s unwavering gaze. “This one,” he said, his tone cold, as though he were confessing to a crime.

Jack blinked. “You lived here? Here at the manor?”

Redden nodded. “For nearly ten years. From the time I was twelve until I was twenty-one.”

Jack blew out a breath, sitting on the bed again.

The simple act only seemed to anger Kane further. “Figured it out, have you? Well, you were quicker about it than I was. I had to hear it from Lord Leiden.”

“Hear what? I don’t understand,” Lena said, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. She looked from father to son, the air between them crackling with emotion, like a storm before lightning strikes. She turned to Jack, an anchor of logic in a troubled sea.

“He’s from a noble family,” Jack said. “No wonder the registrar recognized the name.”

“What?” Lena said, looking to Lord Redden. She knew, because Kane had told her, that the Carmine family was not a noble one, that the title Redden held was his alone and would never be passed to Kane. It was why Cornelians knew him as “Lord Redden” instead of “Lord Carmine”. Yet the Leidens had been calling him Lord Carmine all day. Lena had chalked it up to cultural differences - they seemed to prefer surnames here in Melmond when addressing each other formally - but now she suspected she had got it wrong. “Why wouldn’t you tell us something like that? If you’re Melmond nobility-”

“Because he isn’t,” Kane growled.

Lena’s breath caught at the force of his rage, all of it directed at the man beside her. She shifted her pack around, holding it front of her like a shield.

For Redden, the words were like a slap. His own anger bubbled beneath a thin layer of civility; he was breathing hard with the effort to contain it. To Lena, he said, “The Carmines are one of Melmond’s oldest families. My father is lord of the West Hills. But I renounced my claim to the title.”

“And you never told me,” Kane said, raising his voice.

“What good would that have done?” Redden said, just as loudly. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“I wouldn’t have had to hear it from your enemies!” Kane shouted. Lena squeaked in alarm.

“Calm down,” Jack said from his place on the bed.

Kane snapped, “How can I? I’ve just learned that both my father and grandfather are lords while I’m nothing in two countries.”

“And you’re better off!” barked Redden, loudly enough that Lena squeaked again and stepped away from him. Kane seemed stunned as well, whether at the content of the words or at their delivery Lena couldn’t be sure. Redden ran a hand over his face, as though he were trying to wipe his weariness away. When he continued, his voice was quieter. “Would you let me speak for five minutes?”

Kane threw up his hands in a “go ahead” gesture and turned back to the window.

Redden breathed deep. There was a chair at a desk against the wall, and he flopped into it, as though the wind had gone out of his sails. Lena crossed the room to sit beside Jack on the huge bed as Redden began to speak, addressing her and Jack directly. “I wish to the gods you’d stayed on the ship. The truth is you’re in more danger than you know. And I’m sorry.”

“Because we’re mages?” Lena said.

“We heard what people are saying,” Jack said. “You don’t have to worry about-”

“No,” said Redden. “Because you came here with me. I abandoned these people when they needed me; they’ve never forgiven me for it.” He leaned forward, hanging his head, squeezing his eyes shut, and Lena felt guilt from him sharp as a bee sting on her heart. “Melmond is dying. The high families know it. I’m not just talking about the Rot. Economically, politically… it’s steps away from complete anarchy.”

Kane scoffed. Over his shoulder, he said, “That’s going a bit far, isn’t it? It looked well enough as we passed through it this afternoon. Right, Jack?”

Jack shrugged, and Lena had a sense that he was uncomfortable to be placed in the middle of their disagreement, but before he could say anything, Redden guffawed bitterly. “You think you know Melmond? A little stroll down Farplane Avenue and a light lunch in the Blue Quarter and suddenly you’re an expert?” He shook his head. “You haven’t seen the lower town. You haven’t seen the poverty in the outer farms. Melmond’s broken. It’s been in a steady decline since Leifen fell.”

“That long?” asked Jack.

Redden nodded. “This place has never been anything more than a waystation between the Aldean Sea and the rest of the world. A crossroads. We’ve no exports to speak of, nothing to offer. In centuries past, we’ve done well enough for ourselves, but when the Rot seized us the first time, we almost didn’t recover. Now that the ships are few and far between...” He trailed off, seeming overwhelmed.

Lena noticed his words: _“We,” he’d said. “Us.” He still loves this place._ Loved it as much as he blamed himself for its demise. He looked and felt so sad that Lena’s first instinct was to go to him and hug him tight, but she knew Redden wasn’t the hugging sort. “You didn’t abandon anyone,” she said, fidgeting with the effort to remain where she was. “You’re not responsible for the Rot.”

She stilled when Jack reached down, grabbing her hand where it rested on the bed between them and giving it a gentle squeeze. To Redden, he said, “Is it something to do with your being the reincarnated son of a god? Leiden called you a Son of Titan, unless I misunderstood?” She felt the humor in the question, his sweet attempt to lighten the tension in the room. It was clear from the arch of his eyebrows that he didn’t believe a word of it.

To Lena’s surprise - and Jack’s as well; she felt that much - Redden said, “That’s… that’s part of it.”

“You’re a god, too?” Kane bellowed, turning to face him. “Bahamut’s balls! This just keeps getting better!”

“No, damn it! If I were, we wouldn’t be in this situation!” Redden snapped. He sighed, more annoyed than angry at the turn of the conversation. “I don’t know how much you know about the Founders’ Prophecy…?”

“I know it,” said Jack.

Lena shook her head. “I only know the story.”

“And I barely know that. Another useless Leifenish legend,” Kane said, turning back to the window.

Lena knew he was still listening; she felt his attentiveness despite his affected nonchalance. Redden, though, seemed disappointed in his son’s apparent disinterest. He went on, speaking primarily to Lena. “The short version, then. The prophecy is very specific on some points: it calls for twin sons of noble birth, born of Melmond’s oldest families during the season of storms and under the sign of the ox. When Cid and I came along, we met most of those conditions.”

“Most?” said Jack.

“Twin sons of Melmond’s oldest families. ‘Families’, plural. But Cid and I were only descended from nobility on one side. My father married his favorite whore, and only because the white mages told him she carried twin sons. Another month and my brother and I would have been bastard-born.”

“He tried to manipulate the prophecy?” said Jack.

“I’d say he succeeded,” Redden said, shaking his head. “There are meant to be signs when the founders return: ‘in the earth and in the aether,’ the prophecy says. Despite our mother’s heritage, father put out word that the signs had come, that the prophecy had been fulfilled, and the people of the West Hills swore it was true.”

Lena tried to read the emotions behind his story. “You mean... they lied for him?”

“They lied for him,” Redden said, hanging his head again. “You have to understand, the West Hills are a wasteland. The mines played out more than a century ago. Now, it’s nothing but goats and goatherds on hills too rocky to farm. My father... he’s like a king to those people: a good lord, but a terrible man. Has to be the center of attention. He’s good to his people, but only because they adore him for it. He’ll sink to any low to better his own position. He’s a weasel: ruthless, manipulative.”

She knew, though she couldn’t see it, that Kane was making a face, while Jack struggled to keep his own expressionless. She gave his hand a squeeze, knowing exactly what he must be thinking: _Ruthless and manipulative. Who do we know like that?_

“How long?” Jack said, clearing his throat. “How long did people believe him?”

“Twenty-one years. Until Cid died. We had a chance to stop the Rot, and we failed. In the end, it took a whole Cornelian platoon and a dozen white mages to finish the job. By then, Melmond couldn’t even scrape together ten capable men to go with them.”

_So much pain,_ Lena thought. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “Twenty-one? You were scarcely older than us! A pair of boys to do the work of an army? It’s ridiculous, prophecy or no prophecy!”

“We’re prophesied to save the world,” Kane pointed out, feeling distinctly unsympathetic as he continued to stand by the window.

Lena glared at him briefly before she spoke to his father again. “You didn’t abandon Melmond, Redden!”

“I did,” Redden said without looking up. “There was nothing left for me here, Lena. When the Cornelians left, I left with them. That was when Cascius made me a council lord. I was tasked with negotiating terms for Melmond’s annexation.”

That made Kane turn around. “The negotiations… failed?”

Redden smiled mirthlessly. “Technically, they’re still underway.”

Jack made a sound, half sigh and half groan, as Kane bit back an oath. Their surprise mirrored Lena’s. Not only had Redden cast off a Melmond title for a Cornelian one but he had spent the better part of two decades trying to bring his homeland under Cornelian rule. It all made sense now: the suspicion she’d been feeling from Leiden throughout the day, the way half of the guards viewed Redden with mistrust and the other half with hope. “So that’s why Leiden thinks you’ve been sent to spy on him,” she said.

“Yes,” said Redden. “And because of that, he’ll be spying on all of you in turn.”

Kane cursed again. “Bahamut! Why didn’t I know any of this? Why didn’t you tell us before we got here? Damn it, father! Do you think I would have talked these two off the ship if I’d known?”

“Your bumbling is the only thing saving them from further scrutiny!” Redden snapped, sitting up straight as though the argument was bringing him back to life. “You could hardly have made them more of a social embarrassment if you’d worked at it. A bastard - _my_ bastard, for Titan’s sake! - in a scandalous relationship with his own servant? Anyone seen as having an interest in Jack’s affairs now risks their own reputation! And Lena…” He stopped, wearily scrubbing his hands over his face. “At least no one is going to suspect someone like that of being a white mage.”

Lena felt her face go hot. Jack pulled his hand from hers; Lena keenly felt the absence of it, just as she felt the fresh absence of emotion from the mage, the tiny wisps she’d been feeling from him cut off in an instant like a wall had come down between them. She had the sudden worry that he would never touch her again. “No one implied it was _that_ sort of relationship!” she said, lamely.

“No one had to. That’s how people view bastards here. I’m sorry. If I wasn’t supposed to be his father, no one would look twice at him.”

Lena looked at Jack, but he wouldn’t look back at her. He kept his gaze focused on Lord Redden.

“It just keeps coming back around to you, doesn’t it?” said Kane, his voice harsh and loud in that silent space. “We wouldn’t be here if not for you.”

“Mind your tone,” said Redden, eyes narrowing.

“Yes, my lord,” Kane said, turning back toward the window.

Redden stood.

Emotions swirled through the room so forcefully that Lena gasped. They felt betrayed, both of them, by each other. “Kane,” she started to say, sure that if she could only vocalize what she felt from the two of them, there would be no need for the argument she saw cresting like a wave on the horizon.

Redden raised a hand to silence her. He faced Kane, and Lena knew he would never back down from his own son. “Whatever you have to say, son, spit it out.”

“You were nobility!” Kane said. “It was yours! All of it!” He stood toe to toe with his father now, his face inches from Lord Redden’s, his voice growing louder with every word. He was shouting as he said, “Everything I ever wanted! Everything I’ve tried to achieve! You had it, and you threw it away!”

“Because it wasn’t worth keeping!” Redden shouted back. “Not here! Not this place! Don’t you understand? Melmond is cursed!”

“Only because you fled to Cornelia when you should have been saving it!”

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Lena felt it, and she cringed in sympathy as he took a step back.

From Redden, Lena expected anger. She knew Kane expected it too: she could feel his muscles tensing, bracing himself for whatever punishment his father might mete out. The anger never came. There was pity, and disappointment, and a pain that Redden felt all the more keenly because it was wrapped so tightly in his love for his son. That pain shown in his eyes as he said, “I knew Leiden would try to turn you against me. I didn’t think he’d be able to do it so easily.”

He turned, striding toward the door as Kane said, “Father!”

“Try not to cause more trouble while I’m gone,” Redden said without turning back, his voice perhaps more husky than usual.

“Gone?” said Lena. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving for the cave in the morning.”

“Still?” said Kane. His lip quivered, though his voice remained angry. “But I thought… with everything that happened today…”

“That cave’s the only reason we’re here,” said Redden, pulling the door open.

He nearly walked right into Harvey, who stood in the hall with a broad grin on his face, hand raised to knock. “Oh, good! You _were_ in here! I thought you might be! Father was looking for you. He says you need to go over the preparations for tomorrow.”

“I was just on my way there,” Redden said.

“Wait!” Lena called, for it occurred to her just then that none of them had thought to ask Redden about the cave. “Lord Redden!”

“We’ll talk more when I return,” he said, and then he was gone.

Harvey stood in the doorway, head craned back as he watched Lord Redden leave. When the older man’s footsteps faded away into the distance, Harvey’s smile broadened. He slipped into the room with the three of them, closing the door behind him and heading straight for the chair Lord Redden had been sitting in before. “Good evening, friends!” he said, seeming oblivious to the charge in the air that the recent tension had left behind, a sensation that Lena felt down to her bones.

Kane had angled himself toward the window again, and Lena could feel that he was still fighting against the threatening tears, clinging to his anger as an alternative.  

Jack must have sensed it somehow, for he spoke up, quiet and stiffly formal. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Why, the revels, of course! We talked about them this afternoon, you remember? And you three said you’d never been, so I thought, well, after that disastrous party of father’s this evening, wouldn’t it be grand if I showed you all a good time?”

_More people, more crowds._ Lena shuddered, but managed a polite smile as she tried to think of a way out of accepting the invitation without being rude. The silence stretched on as neither Jack nor Kane made any sort of reply. “That’s very kind of you,” she said, still searching furiously for some way to decline.

“I’m surprised your lord father would grant us permission to leave the house,” said Jack.

“Ha!” said Harvey. “Oh, that would be surprising! This late at night? No, he would never do that. That’s why I haven’t asked him. We’re meant to sneak off, do you see? That’s half the fun!”

And that, Lena thought to herself, was the perfect excuse. “I don’t think-” she started to say.

“I’m in,” said Kane.

“Excellent!” Harvey said, clapping his hands together. “You’ll love it! It’s unlike any party you’ve ever seen! I guarantee it! And you, master Jack? Will you be coming as well?”

“No,” Jack said. “And I think I can safely say the same for Lena. I believe we’ve done enough sneaking about for one day.”

Lena nodded agreement.

“Jack! Come on!” Kane huffed.

“No,” Jack repeated, more firmly. “You can hardly think _our father_ would approve.”

“I’m beyond caring what he thinks about any of this,” Kane muttered. “Fine. Stay, then. But I’m going.”

“Alright!” Harvey said, laughing. “Are you sure I can’t talk you two around?”

“Quite,” said Jack.

Harvey shrugged, his mood entirely unaffected by Jack’s stern refusal. He sprang to his feet, all lithe grace and bundled energy, and dropped a hand on Kane’s shoulder, guiding him toward the door. “Well, I wouldn’t wait up! We might be some time. Cheerio!”

Lena watched the door close behind them, and then she was alone. Jack was still there of course, but she might as well have been alone for all she felt from him. “Should we… should we go after him?” she asked. “Shouldn’t we have tried harder to stop him?”

Jack looked at her again for the first time since their conversation with Lord Redden had taken that most awkward turn, a sideways look, as though he were afraid to turn and face her. “Do you think it would have helped?”

“Probably not,” she said. He chuckled, but she sensed no humor from him. If she closed her eyes, it would be like he wasn’t there at all. “How are you feeling?” His color had yet to return to normal and she worried for him, but given that he’d shut himself off, her only option was to ask him outright.

His hand rested on the bed between them once more; she reached for it but he pulled it away, using it to rub the back of his neck. He seemed to be looking at the corner now rather than at her. “Fine,” he said. “I’m sorry about before. At the party.”

A trace of his shame crept back into her sense of him, too strong, perhaps, for him to contain. “You don’t need to apologize!” she said quickly, turning on the bed to face him properly.

There was a thump as her bag tumbled to the floor, startling them both. Jack looked down at it, then up at her, really looked at her now, with that confused crease between his brows that he got sometimes. “Are you going somewhere as well, my lady?”

“Oh!” she said, gathering it up again. “No! In fact, I’m to sleep in here. Did Redden not tell you?”

Jack made that noise again, the one he’d made in Leiden’s office earlier in the afternoon. “H-here?”

Lena sighed, realizing too late the implications of that statement. “No, I suppose he didn’t tell you then. He said you’d share a room with Kane.”

Jack pinched his eyes shut, nodding. He pushed to his feet, heading toward the door that connected to the next room. She thought he might go through it without another word, but he stopped in the open doorway. Turning back to her, he bowed and said, “Sleep well, my lady.”

The door closed quietly behind him, leaving her as alone as she felt.  

* * *

Harvey reminded Kane of nothing so much as an excitable hound. He all but bounded down the hall, signalling with a finger to his lips that Kane should keep quiet as they drew closer to the staircase. The blond lordling pulled a small ring of keys from his pocket and set about trying to find the match for a locked door near the top of the stairs. Kane waited until they’d entered the empty room - another guest room, unused, its furniture covered in thick drop cloths - before he broke the silence. “I take it those guards are still downstairs. So how do we get out of the manor?”

“The rooms on this side of the house open onto a balcony. We can climb down from there. You’re not uncomfortable with heights, are you?”

Kane laughed, thinking of the time he’d spent climbing the ship’s rigging along with Cole and Felder, wondering if the manor’s third floor was any higher than the crow’s nest. “Hardly,” he said.

“Oh, good!” Harvey said, laughing as he crossed to a set of heavy curtains that he pushed aside to reveal the wide terrace doors with their panes of etched glass. He flipped a bolt, opened the doors to night air that seemed not much improved from the heat of the day. “I suppose it’s a good thing Miss Mateus opted not to go with us, eh?”

Kane’s mind conjured up an image of Lena harping at him from the top of a tree while he fought against wolves at the bottom. “No, she climbs pretty well, actually. It’s more Jack you would have had to worry about.”

“Gods, as tall as he is, it wouldn’t be much of a drop for him.” Harvey strode across the balcony to the railing. Kane followed, looking over and down. It seemed not far at all in the dark, with only a few lights shining out of various windows along the front of the house and more beyond the city gates, visible as a shadowy outline away ahead of them, as though it had been drawn on the horizon in black ink by a steady hand. Harvey thumped Kane’s arm and pointed, bringing his attention to one of the pillars that dominated the front of the house, the one farthest from the lavishly carved front entrance: their way down.  

“Do you know,” Harvey said, getting a leg over the railing with what looked to Kane like practiced ease. “That isn’t how I expected things to go back there. If anything, I would have thought you’d be against our outing and Jack would be all for it.”

“Why would you think that?” Kane asked, following at a slower pace.

“Well, you know, you being a law-abiding guardsman and him being… him. Not your typical bastard, is he?”

“No. Typical has never been the word for Jack,” Kane said, trying not to sound strained as the descent presented more difficulty than he anticipated: the fluting on the column provided good gripping points, but the column itself turned out to be rather wider for it than was comfortable.

They completed the climb in silence, Kane gratefully jumping the last few feet to the ground and rubbing his aching forearms. He could see, farther on, guards posted by the broad front steps, more in the shadows of the covered porch, others walking a path around the edge of the grassy lawn dotted with fireflies. Aside from a lone tree on the edge of a fenced training yard, the lawn stretched unblemished from the house to a slope of wild grass some ways off. The road to Melmond ran straight through it, with no cover in sight. “Won’t the guards stop us?” Kane asked. “There’s no way they won’t see us.”

“Don’t worry about them,” said Harvey. “I know all the guards who work the house. As long as Gabriel’s not with them, I can usually talk them around.”

A figure stepped out from behind the pillar they’d climbed down. Kane recognized the shadow as Sergeant Quincey even before he spoke. “And what was your plan if I was with them?”

Harvey groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead. “Gabriel! How long have you been waiting there?”

The sergeant was without the uniform jacket again, standing in the same shirt he’d been wearing when Kane had first seen him that afternoon, but it did nothing to detract from his air of authority. “Since my brothers left. Though if you’d given it another ten minutes, I might have given up on you.” He hopped the porch railing and walked over to them, looking back at the pillar and up to the third floor balcony. “I suppose it’s too much to expect you to climb back the way you came. Shall I go and tell Lord Leiden you’ve run away after all?”

“I’m not running,” Kane said.

“Of course you aren’t, but you can hardly expect him to allow you to sneak off to see the revels, given the circumstances.”

Harvey gasped. “How did you know that’s where we were going?”

Quincey rolled his eyes. “Because you do it every year. Come on. Back to the house.”

“No! We have to go, Gabriel! Kane’s never seen the revels! Can’t you let us pass just this once?”

“My orders come directly from your father,” the sergeant said, heading toward the front steps as though confident Harvey and Kane would follow.

Harvey hurried to head him off, both hands held up to stop him. “But, Gabriel, you owe me! Remember how I helped you find that ship last month? You said that shipment was a matter of life and death! You said you owed me!”

Quincey stopped, crossing his arms. He looked back at Kane with the same expression on his face that Kane might make if he stepped in something questionable, then turned to Harvey again. Harvey’s wide, excited grin remained unchanged. The sergeant threw his hands in the air, defeated. “Fine! But I’m going with you, and I’m choosing the bar. And this makes us even, Harvey.”

“Absolutely!” Harvey said, holding out a hand to shake on it, then bounding off toward the road, saying “Let’s go!”

Quincey grumbled under his breath as he followed, giving Kane a push to move him along. “Don’t make me regret this more than I already do,” he muttered.

Kane nodded, somewhat regretting the turn of events himself.

That regret didn’t hold up against Harvey’s good mood. The young noble rambled animatedly as they headed toward the city, and it was impossible not to laugh at his outlandish anecdotes, many of which involved the sergeant in one way or another.

“So I take it you’ve known each other a long time?” Kane asked, though he had suspected as much based on their interactions at the party.

“Oh, sure,” Harvey said. “Since we were, what? Five years old?” He looked to Quincey, who nodded. Kane caught a hint of a smile on the sergeant’s face, and that was enough to make him reevaluate his opinion of the man. Not because Harvey considered him a friend - for Kane was beginning to suspect Harvey befriended everyone - but because Quincey clearly valued that friendship. A man who would disobey an order from his lord to repay a favor for a friend couldn’t be as bad as all that.

Harvey went on, “This one time, when we were boys, I visited the Quincey estates in the Reach. So there’s Gabriel and I, out in the ditches, catching crawfish, and-”  

Quincey punched Harvey sharply in the arm. “I’ve told you not to tell the crawfish story. It’s embarrassing.”

“But that’s what makes it so entertaining!” Harvey said, laughing.

Quincey snorted, motioning toward the city’s west gate just ahead of them. The sounds of celebration mingled with the night crickets and the peeping of frogs.  “Plenty of entertainment coming up.”

He was right. When they reached the gate, Kane walked into a Melmond unlike the one he’d passed through that afternoon. Despite the lateness of the hour, there were people everywhere, many in masks, some in bright costumes. It seemed every corner boasted a musician or two, and the revelers danced with wild abandon, lit by the lights of strings of colored lanterns. Vendors roamed between them, selling food and drink, and the smells of roasted meat and dark beer permeated the air.

Harvey and the sergeant dodged through the crowd easily, but Kane bumped into as many as he missed, distracted by the sights and sounds and smells. “Excuse me,” he said as he jostled a street drummer who couldn’t possibly have heard him over the booming rhythm he hammered out with his palms. Kane wasn’t overconcerned about it as the drummer didn’t miss a beat.

“Try to keep up,” Quincey said, shouting to be heard over the music.

They turned onto a less busy street, all glittering shopfronts and gleaming stone steps that seemed familiar. “I think I was here earlier today,” Kane said.

“Yes, as it happens, you were,” said Quincey.

“Aw, not Farplane Avenue!” Harvey whined. “Gabriel, there’s only one bar on Farplane Avenue!”

“I’m well aware. That’s where we’re going.”

“No!” Harvey moaned. “Not the Chocobo! Gabriel! The food there is awful! Let’s go somewhere else!”

“You could go home,” Quincey said, shrugging as he led them toward the large building at the end of the street.

Harvey groaned piteously, but followed.

Kane knew what a chocobo was - Lord Orin had once shown them to him in a painting of his homeland in the northern desert, where the huge birds roamed freely in great herds - but the fat, white bird on the sign above the door to the sprawling tavern looked more like a feathered pear than the proud beasts Orin had wistfully described. The tavern boasted huge windows across its front, and through them Kane could see by the bright lights of scores of candles and two massive chandeliers that the party from the streets continued within.

He bumped another person as they approached the tavern door. Looking down to apologize, he found his vision filled by a feathered mask and a tumble of dark, wavy hair. The woman braced her hands on his chest and kissed him, tall enough for it without so much as raising atiptoe. “Good fortune to you, sir!” she said brightly, pressing a flower into his unresisting hands from the basket she carried on her arm. Before Kane could react, she’d moved on, kissing Harvey next, who enthusiastically returned the gesture. She left him with a flower as well before dancing away, her vivid purple dress soon lost in the colorful crowd.

“Does that happen often?” Kane asked.

“If you’re lucky,” Harvey said with a wink.

“Are you coming or not?” Quincey grumbled, holding the tavern door open for them. Kane noticed the sergeant had no flower of his own.

The bar was full, but they were fortunate enough to find a table along the front wall just as its other occupants were leaving. Kane sat, looking about the vast, open space, trying to take it all in. Unlike the squat taverns he was used to in Cornelia, this one was two stories, the front room huge and airy, with massive wooden beams across the high ceiling. A small, raised stage was situated at the back, and a band played there, guitar and flute and fiddle, beneath the somewhat confused gaze of the stuffed bear’s head mounted on the wall behind them. A staircase behind the bar led into that wall, as did a few doors between the stairway and the stage, including the door to the kitchens where a score of pretty serving girls moved like bees around a hive.

Harvey flagged down one of the serving girls, ordered drinks, then watched her backside as she headed to the bar. “Well, what do you think?” he said to Kane just as the band began a fresh tune, one that Kane had heard before but which was apparently popular here in Melmond, for the tavern crowd let out a throaty cheer at the opening strains, many raising their mugs. The guitarist sang of “stepping out” with a beautiful lady, and as if the lyrics were an invitation, a pair of young women climbed atop a table, legs flashing almost indecently as they danced. “Ha! Look at him, Gabriel! He’s speechless!”

“What?” said Kane, suddenly glad Lena hadn’t tagged along. “No, it’s just… I was picturing something more like the Midsummer festivals in Cornelia.”

Quincey made a _pfft_ noise as the girl returned with their drinks. “I’ve heard how you Cornelians do it. A bunch of parties in the high houses is hardly a festival! You need the common people for that.”

“The common people celebrate too, just not to this extent.” Kane sipped the drink, sweet and spicy with a head of foam, and immediately felt it: a warm, fuzzy sensation that tingled down to his fingertips. “What is this?” he said.

“Fruit juice with rum in it. Mostly rum… a few other things,” said Harvey. “It’s traditional.”

_Strong stuff,_ Kane thought. He’d have to pace himself with this one or he’d end up drunk. But then he thought, _Would it matter?_ In Cornelia, guards were held to certain standards when they were in public, and he had always been mindful of his father’s reputation. _But I’m not a guard here._ And, he thought wryly, his father had already ruined his own reputation by forsaking his title and running away. Kane shrugged, and took another drink.

Quincey waved to someone near the bar. Kane turned and saw that it was a pair of guardsmen in black uniform jackets similar to the one Quincey had worn earlier but for steely gray trim at cuffs and collar and two rows of gray buttons down the front.

“Friends of yours?” Kane asked as the guards weaved through the crowd toward them.

“Just paying my respects,” said the sergeant.

“Those aren’t regular guard corps,” said Harvey. “See the uniform? They’re Avenue Inspectors. Vince’s men. It’s a different division.”

“Vince?” Kane said. “You mean master Pollendina? The secretary?”

“ _Lord_ Pollendina,” Quincey corrected.

“Oh? Sorry, he didn’t mention that when he introduced himself this evening.”

Quincey shrugged. “Not surprising. Just don’t get it wrong in front of these two.” He turned in his chair to address the guards when they arrived. “Gentlemen.”

“Sergeant Quincey,” the older one said, a man of perhaps thirty with a friendly smile. He offered his hand to the sergeant and then to Harvey. “And my lord Leiden. Pleasure to see you.”

“Edmund, wasn’t it?” Harvey said, smiling in return.

The inspector nodded. “How’s your sister? We haven’t seen her at the prayer meetings lately.”

“Sunny as ever. Father won’t have her near the cathedral after the night plague, you know, but she and Vince talk theology sometimes,” said Harvey.

“You could do with a bit of theology yourself, to hear Lord Pollendina tell it,” said the inspector, smirking.

Harvey laughed. “What has he been telling you about me?”

“Inspector Lamontagne,” Quincey interrupted. “I just wanted to warn you: Victor’s in town.”

The inspector and his partner, a younger man with a vacant expression, both laughed at that. The inspector said, “Yes, we know. He was here this afternoon. Bought a round for everybody. And three for himself.”

Quincey cringed. “That explains it.”

“I’d say!” said Harvey. “I thought he seemed the worse for wear at the party! Got a head start on us, eh? Say, shall I buy you a round, inspectors? Or are you on duty?”

“Well, perhaps a shot of something, it being a holiday,” said Edmund. Harvey led the two guards toward the bar, speaking amicably all the while.

Quincey brooded into his cup, so clearly annoyed that Kane actually felt bad for him. “So I take it your brother’s performance earlier was nothing new?” he asked.

The sergeant nodded. “He thinks he holds his liquor better than he does.”

“He wasn’t all that bad,” Kane said.

Quincey shook his head. “You missed the worst of it. He said some things to your brother’s girl, things that don’t bear repeating.”

“What?” Kane said, surprised; Lena had said nothing about Victor after the party. _Not that I gave her a chance,_ he thought.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” said the sergeant. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing to him, Logan’s already done. For my part, I’ll apologize to her when next I see her. Her and your brother both.”

Kane nodded, raising his mug to drink. He suddenly pictured Jack and Lena making the same disappointed face Quincey was making now; he took only a small sip and set the mug down again. It wasn’t his father alone he would embarrass if he behaved poorly here, but his friends as well. _Real friends,_ he thought, remembering how much he enjoyed visiting the market with them that morning. He had thought he had lots of friends before, his comrades in the Cornelian guards, but he realized now that those were just people he got along with.

Minutes passed. Quincey watched the bar, and when Kane looked over his shoulder, he saw Harvey there, still chatting with the inspectors. Other people had joined them, so that Harvey was surrounded by a rapt audience as he told one of his stories. Kane suspected, if he asked, Harvey would say every one of them was a friend. He likewise suspected he could guess how many friends the sergeant would claim.

Uncomfortable with the lack of conversation, Kane tried to think of something to say and settled on, “So Avenue Inspectors? What’s that about?”

Quincey frowned. “Lord Pollendina put them together after the white mages died. Guardhouse here on Farplane Avenue. Every man of them is handpicked by Pollendina himself. I don’t know what the criteria are, but I don’t qualify.”

“Maybe it’s brains?” Kane said, a knee-jerk response, the sort of thing he would have quipped to Jack, perhaps because he’d been thinking of the mage.

The sergeant chuckled, taking the joke. “You’d think.” He nodded toward the two inspectors with Harvey. “Lamontagne’s a clever man, but his partner? Renfield there couldn’t find the bread in a bakery.”

Kane grinned, but then the conversation fizzled. The sergeant sipped his drink, watching the musicians and constantly checking on Harvey at the bar. Kane admired the girls dancing on the table across the room - not the same girls who’d been there earlier; they seemed to be taking it in turns - and admired as well the fiddler, who was herself a pretty young woman, brown as a nut with white-blonde hair cut close to her jawline.

He felt a tug at his belt, and his hand reflexively clamped down on the skinny wrist of a would-be thief whose hand was halfway out of his pocket already. He turned and found himself face to face with a familiar pair of brown eyes above a sullen frown. “Shipman?”

Thad gave him such a scornful look. “You just lost me two gil, you know. Orin and I had a bet going.”

The boy jerked his head toward the far side of the stage. Kane looked and saw the old monk at a table in the corner. Orin waved, his eyes twinkling. Kane turned back to Thad. “What bet?”

Shipman rolled his eyes. “I figured I could get your money away from you. Orin said I couldn’t unless you were drunk.”

Kane threw Orin a sharp glare. The old man shrugged.

Quincey chuckled. “You know this street rat?”

“Yeah, I know him. We…” Kane stopped, wondering how much he should say in front of the sergeant. He wasn’t sure he could trust Quincey with the extent of the truth. “We arrived here on the same ship.”

“Hmm,” Quincey said, nodding toward where Kane’s hand still gripped the boy’s wrist. “Not much of a thief then, I take it?”

Shipman wriggled free and, reaching into his pocket, his face equal parts triumph and resentment, tossed something over to the sergeant. “Good enough for that.”

Quincey caught the item out of the air - a wallet - and when he focused on it, his eyes widened in recognition. His face became a thunderhead as he patted his pockets and, apparently, found them empty. “By all the gods!” he snarled.

Kane sighed. “Shipman, allow me to introduce Sergeant Quincey of the Melmond guard corps.”

He had a moment’s satisfaction seeing Shipman’s face go pale, and was near certain Quincey was only egging him on when he bruskly said, “I’m going to need to see your identification papers, young man.”

“My master has them!” Shipman said quickly, pointing to the corner where Orin sat clapping along to the music, smiling peacefully. “I wasn’t stealing for real! It was only a joke!”

Quincey glared, but Kane saw his mouth twitch with the effort to keep a straight face.

“Please don’t arrest me! I swear I-” Shipman whined, but the rest of it was drowned out by applause as the musicians finished their song. One of the serving girls held a tray of drinks up to the stage and the band sat themselves on the edge of it to drink them, taking a break.

In the reduced noise, Kane very clearly heard Harvey’s voice, mid-story. “And we’d never seen a pregnant crawfish before, so Gabriel, he says, ‘Let’s find a bucket and we’ll-’”

“Aw, hell,” Quincey muttered, pushing back from the table and rushing toward the bar.

Shipman’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “He… he was joking?”

“Good thing for you,” Kane said, grabbing the boy’s arm and pulling him into the empty chair beside him. “What are you doing here?”

Shipman looked side to side, as if checking that no one was listening, then leaned closer, speaking in a rush. “We followed a man here! Patch Bayard, a pirate, only he’s not a pirate now. He’s a navy captain. He was smuggling healing potions into town and he brought them here.”

“Healing potions? What would a navy captain even do with healing potions?”

Shipman shrugged. “I don’t know, but those men you were talking to are in on it.”

“What? The men I came here with? Are you sure?”

“No, not them, dummy! The guards! The uniformed guards, I mean. Maybe Sergeant Cranky is part of it too. I don’t know. But I know it’s something to do with white magic. It’s true they don’t have any white mages here. I heard Bayard say so. And Orin said he heard the same from someone else.”

“My own source for this information is, at best, dubious,” Orin said softly as he pulled out a chair beside Shipman. “There is someone capable of white magic left in Melmond, though they may not be Oath-bound.”

“Nice of you to join us,” Kane said.

“Sarcasm does not become you, young master Carmine.” The old man angled his chair to face the empty stage, as if he had come over for no other reason than that the view was much better from this spot. “Is your father with you? I must speak with him most urgently.”

“No,” Kane said, taking another gulp of the heady drink to hide his grimace.

“See?” said Shipman, pointing to Kane’s face. “They’re fighting again. I told you if they were together all day they’d be fighting again. Pay up!”

“Ah, but you lost a bet to me as well, yes? We are even.”

Kane sputtered. “Is this all you two ever talk about? How many bets have you made on me?”

The monk bowed his head in an apologetic nod. “Surveillance work is most tedious, young master Carmine. We must take our entertainments where we can. I noticed you were impressed with the fiddler, for example.”

Kane felt the color rising in his cheeks.

Orin waved his hand as though shooing a fly. “It is no matter. You must take a message to your father for me.”

“What message?”

“Tell him to ready the ship and sail at his earliest convenience. I regret that I will not be able to join him. You must take young master Shipman with you.”

“What?” said Kane at the same time as Shipman.

“Why do I have to go?” the boy whined. “Why aren’t you coming?”

“It is not safe for you here, young master Shipman. There are enemies most strange in this city. I will face them, but Lord Redden must be warned.”

Kane snorted a laugh. “The Brotherhood? Trust me, he knows. We had a little a run-in with Lord Leiden this afternoon. He told us they were here.”

“And did this Lord Leiden go so far as to divulge that these dark mages were utilizing white spells?”

Kane paused with his cup halfway to his mouth. He set it down again. “No. No, he didn’t mention that.”

“Is that bad?” said Shipman.

“Very.” Kane looked down at the table, mentally reviewing every white spell his father had ever explained to him, and wondered how deadly a dark mage might be with those advantages: Vanish, Protect, other spells beyond a red mage’s skill. “Leiden thought they were taking white mages. I guess he was right…”

“But you surely know they take black mages as well,” said Orin.

“I’ve heard rumors,” said Kane. He knew in Cornelia a few older black mages still tottered about Black Hall and spent their days studying dusty tomes, but he had never met a young black mage, not until he met Jack. Some said the ban kept the mages away, but others wondered why no black mage children had turned up. Black mages had been on the decline for generations, but surely a few had been born in Cornelia over the last twenty years. It was not a thing discussed in polite company: although it was true that magic ran in families, it was not unheard of for a child with no magical heritage to discover a natural affinity for it, and no one liked to admit that their own children or grandchildren might one day declare they could see the aether. If anyone wondered what became of such children, they kept it to themselves.

Orin nodded. “I can testify that those rumors are true. It is why you must take young master Shipman with you. He requires the protection of a powerful mage.”

“I don’t know how much protection Jack will be. He and I are a bit distracted at the moment,” Kane said, frowning.

The monk arched an eyebrow. “I was referring to your father.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Shipman protested. “I don’t need protecting! I want to stay with you!”

“ _No one’s_ going anywhere,” said Kane. “That’s just it. We can’t run off to the ship and set sail, Orin. Leiden has some kind of hold on father. We’re stuck at the manor, under guard, until father gives Leiden what he wants.”

Orin’s eyes widened. “Under guard? At Melmond Manor?”

Kane sighed. “It’s a long story. And unless you plan on being held there yourself, I would suggest we avoid each other.” He heard Harvey’s laughter and he turned in his chair. Harvey was seated at a bar stool, still talking with the two inspectors, Lamontagne and Renfield, while Quincey grimaced between them. Movement at the top of the stairs caught Kane’s eye, a man coming down, his manner friendly as he spoke to an unseen figure up above.

Shipman tugged Kane’s sleeve. “That’s Bayard, the smuggler.”

The man was dressed in a sleeveless shirt that showed sun-dark skin and a sailor’s muscular arms. He carried a large hat, while on his head he wore a bandana. He smiled, seemingly in a good mood, and looked almost respectable; Kane would never have taken him for a smuggler if Shipman hadn’t described him so. He called to the two inspectors as he descended, followed by whoever he had been speaking to, and when Kane got a good look at the second man, he stared.

“He’s the guy in charge,” Thad said. “I think he lives upstairs.”

“That doesn’t make sense...” Kane muttered.

“Do you know this person, young master Carmine?” said Orin.

“That’s Vince Pollendina, secretary of Melmond,” Kane said. Stepping around the bartender, the secretary came out from behind the bar, greeted Harvey with a smile and a handshake, said a few words to Quincey and the inspectors. “Why would someone like him need to smuggle healing potions?”

His speculations were cut short by a commotion from the kitchens, loud enough that the musicians who had just begun to play again stopped abruptly. An older woman in a spattered apron ran out, the cook perhaps, and when she saw the secretary coming down the stairs behind the bar, she darted straight for him. She spoke frantically, though Kane couldn’t hear what she said.

Pollendina gestured, and the two inspectors followed the woman back the way she came. Quincey seemed poised to go with them, but he hesitated, looking back at Kane. Harvey shook his head, springing to his feet. He seemed to admonish the sergeant as he pushed him back toward their table, and Kane caught the end of it when they arrived. “You’re not on duty! Let the inspectors handle it! It’s their street, after all!” He smiled at Kane and said, “We should go, before he gets himself involved in the case.”

“How can I when I’m meant to be watching you idiots?” Quincey grumbled.

Kane rolled his eyes, for he suspected if it was Harvey alone, the sergeant would have abandoned him to join the investigation without a second thought. “What was that about?” he asked.

Harvey shrugged. “Some dead man in the alley behind the tavern. One of the serving girls found him.”

“You needn’t be so casual about it!” Quincey snapped.

“Oh, please!” said Harvey. “You deal with this sort of thing every week!”

“In the lower town! Not here!”

Harvey rolled his eyes. “Well, whoever he was, I doubt he was a victim of the dark mages. Likely a drunk, or a duel gone wrong. You know how the merchants around here like their duels.”

“Dark mages?” said Thad. Kane tried to kick him under the table, but missed. “What do you know about dark mages?”

Harvey laughed. “Gabriel’s been hunting them for months. You’re unlikely to find anyone in Melmond who knows more about them.” He looked from Thad to Orin and smiled. “Forgive me! I haven’t introduced myself!”

“You are the young lord Leiden,” Orin said. “We have met, though you won’t have remembered me. I have the honor of being friends with Lord Redden.”    

Kane winced. He could see the suspicion in Sergeant Quincey’s face. Kane had already told him Orin and Shipman had arrived in Melmond on the same ship as himself; it wouldn’t be difficult to piece together that the most likely place Orin could have met Harvey before was in the Cornelian court three years ago. There would be no pretending that Orin’s acquaintance with either himself or his father was a recent or casual one. What was the old man thinking? Kane stood and said, “We should go.”

“Yes,” said Harvey. “Seems proper etiquette to wrap up the festivities after someone’s died, wouldn’t you say?”

“We’ll talk later,” Kane said to Orin. He turned for the door, but as he did he saw Inspector Renfield weaving through the crowded tables toward them.

The Avenue Inspector headed straight for Quincey. “It’s one of yours,” he said.

Quincey went still, and Kane immediately understood what the inspector meant: a dark mage. Quincey met Kane’s eye, a searching look, as if to say, _Are you in?_ Kane nodded.

“I’ll just chat with Vince awhile, shall I?” Harvey said, sighing as he wandered toward the bar.

Kane and Quincey followed Renfield toward the kitchen and through it to the service entrance in the back. In the alley, they found Lamontagne crouched over the body of a man in black mage robes.

“Does he have the mark?” Quincey said.

The inspector held up something silver and glinting. “Amulet in his pocket.”

Quincey muttered a phrase that sounded very like one of Jack’s Leifenish curses and knelt down. Lamontagne straightened, stepping back beside Renfield to give him room. Quincey turned the dead man’s face for a better look. “How does a man dressed like this get so far into the city without causing alarm?”

“I believe I can be of assistance,” said Orin from the doorway as Shipman peeked out from behind him.

Renfield said, “Sir, this is a matter for the guards. Please go back inside.”

“No,” said Quincey. “Wait. Do you know something about this?”

The monk nodded. “I killed him myself.”

The three Melmond guards turned as one to stare at him. Kane froze. Shipman’s wide eyes darted from Orin to the guards and back again. Orin stood patiently, face blank.

Lamontagne cleared his throat. “Could I see your identification papers, sir?”

“That will not be necessary. I am Orin Tantal, third council lord of Cornelia. I remand myself and my apprentice to Lord Leiden’s custody.”

Kane groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _4/7/17: There really is a crawfish story. I’ve mentioned I lived in Louisiana for a time, and as I lived there, I ate many crawfish (as one does). They are indeed tasty, but I never could get over the fact that we were eating what are, where I come from, those giant water bugs that come out after it rains. Children catch them in the ditches, along with frogs and turtles. And while I did grow up eating many, many frogs legs, we did not eat crawfish, no more than we would eat, say, a spider. I mean, that’s just weird._   
>  _So, once upon time, when we were children and the spring rains had come, me and my brothers were out in the ditches catching crawfish, when we found one that was lumpier than the others. We looked closely and realized what we were seeing were baby crawfish INSIDE of the lumps; the lumps were actually eggs! A pregnant crawfish!_   
>  _And we’d never seen a pregnant crawfish before, so my older brother said, “Let’s get a bucket, and we’ll see what happens after they’re born!” We took this request to our mother, who agreed that this would indeed be an educational experience. The only bucket she had, though, was square and shallow, plastic, about the size of a shoe box. Within a few days, it was full of tiny, skittering, adorable baby crawfish. We were enthralled! We spent a whole day just watching them swim around and eat the crumbs we gave them._   
>  _But in short order, the cat found the bucket. No, she did not eat the crawfish. She did not upend the bucket. She watched those tiny skittering crawfish swimming around, and, as enthralled as we children had been, she stuck her little paw in the water and chased those baby crawfish one by one, batting at each of them until they died in a systematic crawfish genocide._   
>  _We came home from school that day to find her still at it, and only 3 baby crawfish left alive. My older brother and I were disappointed, but our baby brother, six years my junior, was devastated. He insisted, and we agreed, in order to shut him up, that we bury them with all honors, and have a moment of silence for each of the fallen. Picture us, out in the mud, in the ditches, in our Sunday clothes, holding this funeral for thirty baby crawfish, how we were at it for more than an hour, how baby brother would scream when older brother or I tried to hurry it along._   
>  _Now picture our mother’s reaction when we came back inside in our soiled and muddy clothes. And that, my friends, is the crawfish story._


	39. The Day Will Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: The Day Will Come from Final Fantasy V. Yes, another FF5 song. Not to be confused with[ The Dawn Will Come](https://youtu.be/qq8ZcIfLDUo) (that’s something else). Click [here](https://youtu.be/oY3R8goQNrw) for the original, [here](https://youtu.be/ZE1o0Tk2n60) for a lovely piano version (with game spoilers in the video), or [here](https://youtu.be/_EIJqkZU3kw) for classical guitar. I play guitar myself, but I can’t play classical style yet. Maybe someday I’ll finish writing this thing and have time for other hobbies. _

_ Melmond Manor, Twenty-five Years Ago _

The coughing fit went on so long that Redden, sitting on the edge of the bed, almost rang for the white mages who waited downstairs, but Bram clutched feebly at his sleeve to keep him in place. Redden stayed, and the cough faded a moment later. Bram lay back against the thick pillows, exhausted.

Redden sighed in relief, turning his attention back to the aether diagram he’d been studying, drawn by Bram’s shaky hand. A teardrop landed on the page and Redden quickly wiped it away, swiping a hand over his face to clear others before they fell.

“The aether,” Bram said, his words choked by a little cough. He was breathing so hard, he could barely speak. “I know you... can’t see it... but can... you... understand?” He motioned toward the diagram.

Redden set the paper aside and placed a hand on the old man’s chest, casting the strongest Cure he could manage, though it had only been an hour since the last one. As before, he could feel most of the spell slipping past the man and away: Bram’s soul was too weak to take more. “I understand it well enough to know I’ll never cast it on my own,” Redden said. “Please rest, Father. You need your strength.”

Bram shook his head, but his words came easier. He spoke in a rush, as though anxious to get it all out before the cough took him again. “You must find another white mage. One like me, with ties to earth. The earth sense is more important than either experience or power. Father Ladimer has a few candidates, but you must help them understand the spell.”

“I will. Please, rest.”

Bram nodded, breathing deeply, and Redden blinked back more tears at the rattling sound each breath made. He looked up as Bram squeezed his hand. “I believe in you, Redden. Not as a son of Titan. Just you.”

He was still there, staring at the diagram without seeing it, listening to Bram’s labored breathing as he slept, when the door creaked gently and Cid peeked in. Redden stood, careful not to disturb the old white mage, and joined his brother in the hall.

“You said you wanted to know when Argus returned,” Cid said quietly.

“Yes. Where is he?”

Cid made a sour face. “Dead. Only two of the men came back. Those creatures are still there, they said. Argus… He didn’t make it.”

“Damn,” Redden said, so angry that he was shaking, but he kept his voice low. “Damn it. If we had gone back two moons ago...”

“Don’t blame yourself,” said his brother. “We thought it worked. All of us did. And Bram couldn’t have made another trip, not even then.” He gripped Redden’s shoulder and steered him toward the stairs. “Come on. Arthur’s here.”

Redden shook his head. “I can’t train with him today. I… I just can’t.”

“I know. I told him to come. I thought you could use a friend.”

They stopped by the sitting room at the bottom of the stairs where the white mages waited. Lord Westen had insisted Bram be cared for by the best the Cathedral had to offer. Cid had a word with them, and one went upstairs to take Redden’s place.

Cid pulled Redden along. “Are you any closer to understanding that spell?” he asked.

“No. Maybe. It’s like Protect, but… not. Protect guards against physical effects, but this… It only guards against aether. I can’t explain it.” He looked back toward the stairs. “I was going to ask him about that earth spell I found, the black magic one. I forgot.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Cid. “You can ask him when he wakes up.”

But Bram never did.

* * *

_ Melmond Manor, Present Day _

Kane moved upstairs, his steps feeling as though bricks were tied to his ankles. He’d been given only a stub of candle to light his way, and he wondered if it would last him to his room. The guards posted at the bottom of the stairs to the third floor looked first at him and then at each other with a confused expression that Kane found immensely satisfying but they let him pass. He grinned as he heard them whispering behind him.

Leiden had not been pleased when they returned to the manor well after midnight with Orin and Shipman in tow. Kane and Harvey and the sergeant had suffered through a tongue-lashing the likes of which Kane thought his father would have envied, a tirade about responsibility and duty that managed to encompass all parties present so that when he finally said, “Is that understood?” even Shipman nodded.

Quincey said little in his own defense, but explained, with Orin’s assistance, about the dead man in the alley. The monk then spun a tale that, while true, left out a number of important details: They had set out together from Cornelia to pursue a threat against the kingdom, Orin said. Word of the Rot had spread, and thus they were here. Nothing about the prophecy of the Warriors of Light. Nothing about the dangers they had faced so far.

Kane wondered what time of night it was by now, and thought how very thoroughly he was looking forward to laying out upon that huge bed. He was, therefore, mildly annoyed to find Jack sleeping there. The tall black mage slept on his side, curled up like a child, fully clothed as though at any moment he might have reason to leap up and run away.

Kane grumbled as he went through the connecting door to the next room, slamming it somewhat behind him, not caring if Jack should be disturbed.

Someone muttered.

Kane raised the candle high, one hand going to his sword as he heard movement from the bed, but it was only Lena, smiling as she blinked against the candlelight. “You’re back,” she said.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Your father said I should sleep in here. Closer to you two,” she said, yawning around the last word.

“Of course he did,” Kane said, looking back at the door behind him. “Am I supposed to sleep in the floor?”

“Here.” She smiled sleepily at him, holding out the thick blanket from her own bed. “To lay on. I won’t need it.”

He thanked her, but he wasn’t sure she heard. In the time it took him to check that the door to the hallway was locked and secure, she was asleep again. He slipped through the connecting door to the room he would share with Jack, taking care, this time, to close it quietly.

* * *

Jack clawed his way out of the nightmare with a stifled cry. He could still feel the heat of the flames, could see the after-image of his mother’s spell against his eyes. When the image faded, leaving him in darkness, he panicked anew, worried the blast had blinded him, before he remembered where and when he was.

_ Melmond. I’m in Melmond. _ Fifteen years since the fire, since his mother had sacrificed herself to save him, but the dreams were coming more often now.

He lay fully clothed atop the lavish bed in the room that had once belonged to Lord Redden’s brother, his skin tingling and his shirt damp with sweat. Not the heat of nightmare flames, then, but the heat of Melmond at Midsummer. The city on the swamp was legendary for its heat; it was one of the first things travelers remarked on, even when the year was not as hot as this one was shaping up to be.  

He reached for the aether, half driven by instinct as he formed the familiar ice spell and held it inside him, a rush of cool relief. He could have sworn he had formed it before he settled in for the night, but perhaps he hadn’t; with the way the aether had been troubling him these past few weeks, he hadn’t needed the spell, and he had fallen out of the habit of casting it.

Jack closed his eyes and opened his aether sight, letting the colors seep in. The room appeared around him as shapes and outlines against the complete darkness. Kane was stretched out in the floor, his yellow aura glowing like a lantern as he slept in front of the room’s entrance. If he focused, Jack could just make out Lena’s pale blue through the wall behind him. He turned his concentration out farther still, through the curtained window to the sky beyond it, and he found the aether currents there calm and placid. Still the middle of the night then, hours from dawn.

He curled his soul around the ice spell as he curled his body onto his side and let sleep take him again.

His aether sight hadn’t even faded before he woke once more, his scarred skin pricking against the heat. He felt the edge of his ice spell slipping back into the raw aether, like a fish escaping a net, and he growled in frustration.  _ Out of practice, _ he thought. He could hold it in his sleep, had done so for years. He called it up again, this spell he had done thousands of times, and found himself wondering if he was doing it wrong. Ridiculous. He was too tired for this.

He sat up. He was no stranger to midnight awakenings - back at the Lake, he would have taken a walk to clear his head - but this wasn’t Crescent Lake, and he doubted Leiden would appreciate his “guests” roaming the manor at all hours. Instead, he went to the window, parted the curtains, and looked out at the clear night sky, glittering with stars.

Even with the aid of his aether sight, his gloved hands fumbled with the latch in the dark, but the window opened soundlessly. Jack wanted to breathe the night air, to feel the breeze on his face, so he pulled his scarf off and tossed it to the bed. After a moment’s consideration, his sweat-soaked shirt followed.

_ Just for a little while, _ he thought, leaning on the sill, gazing up at the stars.  _ Just until I cool off a bit. _

He chose the brightest star he could see, a blueish one, hazy about the edges, and he said, “Hello.” His voice seemed loud compared to the night noises drifting in from the swamp beyond the manor’s grounds, and he glanced back to make sure Kane hadn’t stirred. “Were you watching us today?”

The star seemed to wink in answer.

“I guess you saw what a mess we made of it. I keep wondering if there’s something I could have done differently that would have avoided all this.” He sighed. “I’ve thought of a dozen things I could have said to Leiden in that office.” He tested a few of them out now. Then he tried out the things he wished he had said to Victor Quincey at the party, and to the sergeant, but when he thought about the things he wanted to say to Lena, he couldn’t get the words out. “Anyway,” he said. “Thanks for listening, but it’s late. Or early. I don’t know.”

He knew he needed more sleep, but exhausted as he was, his mind wouldn’t let up, buzzing from thought to thought like a bee in a flower garden. He grabbed his shirt and sat on the edge of the bed, but he didn’t put it on.  _ A little longer, _ he thought. The ice spell was working, and the breeze was pleasant. He laid on his side again, eyes to the window, to the stars, and let his mind wander as it seemed inclined to do anyway.

He didn’t notice when his grip went slack and his shirt slid to the floor.

* * *

There was a knock at the door. Kane grunted and tried to ignore it. It was too early. He didn’t know what time it was, but that made no difference. He was certain it was too early.

The knock came again, and the lock rattled as the insistent visitor tried the door handle. That was enough to make Kane open his eyes, but before he could reach for his sword, he heard his father calling, “Son, it’s me.”

He groaned as he sat up, stiff all over from the hard floor. How early must it be? The window was open but it faced west; the only dawn that crept in through it was gray and shadowy. He used the meager light to find his pants, for he’d slept in only his underclothes.

“Kane?” his father said, knocking again.

“A moment,” he replied, standing as he pulled his pants on.

Jack murmured at the noise, stretching in his sleep. Kane glanced over at him, distracted by his search for his shirt, but when he realized what he’d seen, his eyes snapped back to the sleeping mage.

From his chin to his waistband, Jack was scarred. On his left shoulder and along that arm, the scars were so bad that he almost didn’t look human. Save for one small section along his ribs on his right side, Jack was a patchwork of discolored and misshapen skin, strange ridges forming senseless patterns.

_ Gods, no wonder he covers himself, _ Kane thought with a pervading sense of guilt, not only for thinking such a thing but for seeing what his friend worked so hard to keep hidden. The mage was never undressed; Kane had barely seen him without his scarf on, let alone a shirt.  _ He must have thought he’d wake before I did. _

The door handle rattled again. “Kane, I’ve no time for this!”

“Hold on already!” he grumbled, unlocking the door, opening it only as far as was necessary for him to slip out into the hall and trying his best to block his father’s view of the room as he did so. “What is it?”

Lord Redden stood in rough traveling clothes, a large pack on his shoulders and serious boots on his feet. He arched an eyebrow as he looked his son up and down.

Kane, barefoot and shirtless, detected disapproval in that look. “It’s hot, alright?”

“Yes, it is,” said Redden. “But they’re used to it here, and they can be funny about modesty.”

“It’s not as if I’m on my way to breakfast dressed like this!”

“I didn’t mean-” Redden sputtered, cutting off mid-sentence and visibly composing himself. “I didn’t come to argue.”

“Fine,” said Kane, trying to keep his tone neutral but aware he’d done a poor job of it. “Why did you come?”

“I need my sword,” Redden said, reaching for the door.

Kane pushed in front of him. “I’ll get it,” he said quickly, closing the door behind him as he hurried inside. He forced himself not to look at the mage as he fetched the sword leaning against the wall by the head of the bed and rushed back out.

Redden looked the blade over when Kane handed it to him, then, seeming satisfied that all was in order, he nodded. “I never did ask what he was doing with it. What were the two of you up to?”

Kane shrugged, wondering if he should tell his father how much the black mage relied on focus objects, but remembering how Jack had begged him not to tell the others.  _ Not my place, _ he thought, hoping Jack could hold up without one for however long his father was gone.

Redden seemed in no hurry to leave, however. “That wasn’t the only reason I came.”

“No?” Kane asked.

“I came to see you. To say…” He reached out, grabbing Kane’s shoulder, squeezing hard. “To say I’m sorry.”

Kane waited. His shoulder ached where his father gripped it, but he made no move to get away.

His father gazed intently at his face. “You look like we did at your age, my brother and me. He died in that cave. I’ve never told you.”

Kane blinked. “The one you’re going to? But Leiden said it wasn’t dangerous.”

“Leiden’s a fool,” Redden snapped. “Ignoring the problem that’s right in front of him, pretending nothing’s wrong. Every nightmare I have stems from that cave.”

“But then… why are you going back there?”

“Because that’s where we found the sword:  _ your _ sword, the one that declared  _ you _ a Warrior of Light. There’s something in that cave, son, and it’s tied up in this prophecy somehow.” Redden pulled him closer. “I would never have brought you here. I need you to know that. This place has taken so much from me already. You’re all I have left. I would have moved continents to keep you from this place if I’d had any choice.”

He released Kane and turned away, and he was nearly to the stairs when Kane called, “Father!”

Redden stopped, looking back at him.

He had so much to say, but here, in this place, in this moment, the words seized in his throat like a stone in an hourglass, too big, and time flowed around them. Instead, Kane only asked,  “How long will you be gone?”

“Three days,” Redden said.

Kane nodded.

His father walked back to him and hugged him quickly. “When I return, if I return, I will tell you everything. I swear.”

He watched as Redden walked away, stood staring long after his father was out of sight. He didn’t turn at the sound of the lock clicking open, or at the creaking of the door to the next room as Lena joined him in the hall. He did look down at her rumpled curls when he felt her move in beside him. “Were you listening?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I could feel you.” She reached up, her fingers light and gentle on his shoulder as she healed the ache his father’s grasp had left behind. “Do you need to talk about it?”

He shook his head, jaw clenched, determined not to cry in front of the white mage, but he felt the tears stinging his eyes when she stood on her toes and pulled him in for a tight hug as warm and soothing as any Cure.

* * *

Thad peeked through the training yard fence, watching the men conduct their morning exercises. They used blunted steel, not wooden practice swords like Thad was used to, and they wore thick padding for protection. He thought how hot it must be, even this early in the morning. He watched closely, hoping to learn something new that he could use against Kane later, but the Melmond guards’ routine was a familiar one, the same memory-building drills Kane had been teaching him since Cornelia.

He’d been all over the house and grounds this morning, looking, as instructed, for something Orin didn’t know, a vague objective since Thad didn’t know what the monk already knew. He’d snuck around, looked behind a few locked doors, watched, listened. He’d seen evidence that the manor grounds had once been surrounded by a wall, but that was gone now, leaving only a crumbling foundation that marred the otherwise lush lawn. It reminded him of home, of the iron gates rusting at the bottom of Pravoka’s canal. He wondered how long it had been since anyone had bothered to attack here.

He’d followed the guards on their patrols, and that at least had been a fun challenge as there was no cover anywhere, but Thad knew how to be quiet. The patrols were spread thin, and it seemed to Thad that none of the soldiers on duty at the house really expected anything to happen. They weren’t as observant as they could have been to miss him so easily.

Not that they were useless. As far as Thad’s amateur eye could tell, all of those in the training yard were competent swordsmen. Better than him, at any rate, which wasn’t saying much. He could see that man, Sergeant Quincey, among them, and if he was tired from their late night out, he gave no sign. His sword rang like a bell as he blocked his opponent’s oncoming strike and followed it up with a twist that tore the other man’s sword free.

He won his next match as well, but when the drill instructor set them to fighting in teams, two on two, Quincey excused himself.

“Bring the Cornelians around next time, Quincey!” one of the other men said. “I’d love to see them in action!”

Another said, “Aye, they say the sons of Titan could take thirty men between them! I wonder how the young ones compare to their father?”

Quincey didn’t respond, but he scowled as he freed himself of the thick padding and put it away in a small storage shed.

Thad followed him back to the house, keeping his distance. He could see Orin waiting on the porch, sipping a cup of tea as he sat in the warm morning sun. Quincey stopped to have a word with him, but Thad was too far away to hear it. He waited until the guardsman went inside.

Orin smiled as Thad climbed the porch steps. “Tea?” he said, motioning to the pot on the little table beside his chair.

“No, thanks,” said Thad. It was too hot for a hot drink. He didn’t know how Orin could stand it.

Orin shrugged. He gestured to the empty porch in front of him. “Sit. Tell me what you have learned today.”

“Well, Sergeant Cranky there is pretty good with a sword. I watched him training.”

Orin chuckled. “I suspected this. Leiden would not have made him a watch dog, otherwise. Do you think you could beat him?”

Thad shook his head. “He wears tall boots. Hamstrings are right out.”

Orin laughed. He sipped his tea. “What else?”

“I memorized the guards’ patrol patterns.”

Orin shook his head. “Too easy.”

“Did you know there used to be a wall here?”

“That is old news.”

Thad frowned, wondering what else would impress the old man. “I found where Leiden keeps his files,” he said, but the uncertainty in his voice made it sound more like a question than a statement.

Orin sighed, cradling the teacup between his hands. “Did you listen at the kitchens as I asked?”

“Yes!” Thad said, rolling his eyes. It hadn’t been much of an achievement. Thad had walked right up to the kitchen door, turned on the charm, and begged for a biscuit. The cook’s assistants had exclaimed over how cute he was and given him two. They kept talking, silly gossip about Kane and the others, as he sat in the corner to eat. When they’d turned the conversation to market lists and chore assignments, he’d slipped out.

“What did you hear?” asked Orin.

“Mostly girl stuff.” He made his voice go high in imitation. “‘Oh, Kane’s so handsome! The other one’s so hideous! What does that girl see in him?’”

“They discussed Lena and master Jack?”

Thad nodded. “I guess they really are pretending they’re betrothed.” Leiden had mentioned something to that effect last night, only an off-hand comment full of unspoken disapproval, but Orin had silenced Thad before he could question what he’d heard.

“And how did the kitchen staff view the match?”

“I don’t know.” Thad shrugged. He tried to remember exactly what they’d said. “One of them said it was romantic, the way she stood by him at some party last night, but the other said, ‘Who cares? If it keeps her hands out of the dishwater, more power to her.’”

“Hmm… Interesting.” Orin pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Such information could prove useful.” He bowed his head to Thad, toasting him with the teacup. “You did well, young master Shipman.”

“Really?” Thad said, crossing his arms. “That’s it? You don’t care what I found in Leiden’s papers?”

“I imagine, were it important, you would have opened with that information.”

Thad grumbled. The old man was right.

Orin chuckled. “Spying is not only about ferreting out secrets. It is about playing a role. If you can befriend your enemies, they will tell you their secrets of their own accord. You have seen this before, yes? When you play at being a sweet child in order to get your way, hmm?”

Thad frowned but couldn’t deny the accusation. He nodded reluctantly.

Orin nodded as well. “Yes, you understand this. Lena and Jack are playing a role now. What you have learned today will help them do it.” He looked past Thad, toward the side of the house, then waved at someone.

A young woman had just come around the corner, tall and blonde, in a flowy dress with more lace trim on it than Thad thought was necessary. She looked confused for a moment but then smiled and rushed toward them, a basket of fresh-cut flowers bouncing on her arm with each step. “Lord Orin? Is that you?”

Orin rose slowly and stiffly, as though his back pained him - an act, Thad suspected, for there was nothing weak about the low kick the old man aimed at Thad’s leg when he remained seated on the porch. “Miss Leiden, it is a pleasure to see you once more.”

_ Leiden? _ Thad thought, rising.  _ The lord’s daughter?  _ He could see the family resemblance now that he knew. He suspected it would have been impossible to miss if she and Harvey had been side by side.

She hurried up the porch steps to hug the monk. “Lord Carmine didn’t mention you were here as well!”

Orin chuckled, patting her cheek like a doting grandfather. “He does so love his surprises.” He beckoned to Thad with a shaky hand. “Miss Leiden, I would like you meet my apprentice, Thadius Shipman.”

Thad hesitated, but only briefly.  _ Befriend your enemies, _ the monk had said, and Thad was sure Lord Leiden was an enemy. Though Orin’s smile for this girl looked genuine, the frail-seeming old man was playing a role, just as he had said before. It didn’t take long for Thad to settle on a role for himself. He smiled, and when he bowed he twitched at the end of it to make it seem awkward. “My lady!”

“Aren’t you adorable!” She giggled, then turned back to Orin. “Oh, I can’t believe neither Kane nor his father mentioned you! Are you joining us for breakfast? Say you are! We’ve a little time before then. Will you sit in the parlor and talk with me?”

“Of course,” Orin said, placing a hand on Thad’s shoulder as though he needed the support.

Inside the house, Miss Leiden handed her flower basket off to a servant before leading Orin and Thad down the hall, toward a pair of leaded glass doors that Thad assumed led to the parlor. Beyond the doors was a staircase, and they were just in time to meet Kane and Lena coming down, accompanied by a uniformed guard who remained a few steps behind them. Thad called out an enthusiastic, “Hello!” to the pair of them.

Lena stared, clearly surprised. “Thadius? And Lord Orin?”

Kane sighed. “Sorry. I guess I should have mentioned.”

Orin’s face wrinkled up in a broad smile. “Good morning, Lena. I wonder, could I have a word?” He didn’t wait for Lena’s stunned nod before turning to Miss Leiden. “If you would excuse us, Ruby. We will not be long.”

“Of course,” the girl said. “We’ll wait inside.”

Orin tottered the few steps toward Lena, shuffling his feet as he went, feigning frailty so well that Lena hastened to support him.  _ Playing a role, _ Thad thought. Which was only another way of lying. Thad smiled. He was good at lying. He turned his smile on Ruby Leiden as he opened the door for her, bowing with calculated awkwardness. “After you, my lady!” he said. He knew he’d done it right by how she laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _5/5/17: The number one complaint I’ve received about my story so far is Not Enough Thad. Omg, you guys love that little thief. I’m glad of it._   
>  _A lot of Thad’s character comes from the little boys I’ve met in my career as a youth services librarian: the clever, plucky sort who visit the library often, read chapter books of questionable quality, and forget they’re supposed to be quiet while they’re laughing at YouTube videos on the library computers. I love these boys, and love recommending books to them, as they read the same things I enjoy myself: lots of action and space ships and dragons!_   
>  _But even more of Thad’s character is taken from another source: my brother. Not the older one who has passed on and inspired me to write this story to begin with, but the younger one. He was twelve when I left home, and some part of me always expects him to still be twelve. The fact that he’s a grown man now, getting married this fall, doesn’t seem to want to stick in my brain._   
>  _But, yes, readers, I agree. I skimp on the Thad scenes. There are more to come, but you have to be patient. I’ll tell you a secret: this is Thad’s book. Out of all the characters, he is the one who needs to change the most before the story ends. Kane is already a warrior, Jack and Lena are already mages; they only get better at what they already do. Thad is a kid. This is the story of him growing up to be… whatever he’s going to be. A great hero, perhaps? He’s not one yet; he’s still learning. Be patient. Watch it happen._


	40. Unrequited Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Unrequited Love from Final Fantasy IX. (We all know it’s really requited, guys. It’s just a song title.) Click[here](https://youtu.be/BETwrTNT7LQ) for the original, [here](https://youtu.be/9jetdmv5j8M) for the piano version, or [here](https://youtu.be/1b87qBjxz2c) for classical guitar. There’s also this [very shaky video ](https://youtu.be/tha4pzoQLK4?t=1m33s%20) of the song being played at the Distant Worlds concert in Omaha a few years ago. It’s not my video, but it is the same concert I attended, so as you listen, you can imagine me in the audience somewhere off to the left, close to the stage._

It was full daylight when Jack woke again, groggy and confused from oversleep, sweltering beneath a heavy blanket.  _ Odd, _ he thought, for he was sure he remembered being too hot in the night. He’d cast his ice spell - he remembered that. Perhaps it had worked too well and he’d pulled up the blanket in his sleep. There’d been the window, and the stars, and the breeze on bare skin.  _ Bare skin… My shirt! _

He sat bolt upright, holding the blanket in place, but a quick survey of the room showed that Kane had already gone. It wasn’t Kane that concerned him, though: the door connecting his room to Lena’s was wide open.

_ Ramuh, strike me down, _ he thought, mortified beyond imagining.  _ Someone _ had covered him with that blanket. The thought that it might have been her, that she would have seen what he really looked like, filled him with such horror that he buried his face in the blanket and moaned.

He rose slowly, wondering if it was worth the trouble. Putting on his boots seemed to require a heroic effort, considering his life might as well be over. What would he say to her? What  _ could _ he say to her? It wasn’t as if he could change it.

It was only after he’d dug out a clean shirt and put himself back together that he realized Redden’s sword was not where he’d left it.  _ I’ve already lost what dignity I had. I can’t have lost that too,  _ he thought, bringing up his aether sight. There by the bed were the red traces of Redden’s aura that the weapon had left behind, as well as the fading evidence that Kane had taken the sword. The question of why could wait - the aether was still calm from Jack’s foolishness the day before - more importantly, the aura trails revealed that Lena had not come in. When he stood in the doorway and read the aether in her room, he saw she’d explored no farther than the bed, which was situated on the wall opposite. “Thank the gods,” he muttered. 

Lena and Kane had left together, it seemed, so he followed, planning to find a servant or two and ask for directions - it would be suspicious if he walked right to them in the unfamiliar house - but he was spared the trouble. A lone guard waited on the second floor landing, the same guard who had lent Quincey his jacket the evening before, the one with the unusual nose. “Clyne, wasn’t it?”

The man nodded, but made no other reply.

That silent gaze made Jack uncomfortable. “Did the others come through here?” he asked.  

Clyne grunted, motioning Jack to walk with him. It occurred to Jack that the man might be taking him anywhere, to a place, for example, where no one would ever find his body, but the guard led him in the same direction as his friends’ aether trails, down to a dining hall on the first floor, then stationed himself outside in the hall. 

The room was dominated by a long, gleaming table set with eight chairs, though it could have held twice that. Lena and Kane sat on the side nearest the door with an empty chair between them. Ruby and Leiden sat at either end. Across the table, however, sandwiched between Leiden and Sergeant Quincey, were two figures Jack did not expect. 

“Good morning, Jack!” Thad called cheerfully through a mouthful of food. 

“Remember your manners, young master Shipman. Swallow before you speak,” said the monk. He hardly looked up from what appeared to be a map of the city in front of him.

“Good morning,” Jack said, keeping his confusion to himself.

“Ah, the scholar lives,” said Leiden, before tucking into his breakfast once more.

Ruby laughed. “Be nice, father! He’s up before noon, which is more than Harvey’s ever achieved.” Quincey murmured agreement beside her.

Lena looked over her shoulder, and she smiled so brightly when she saw him that Jack could have died a happy man right there. Kane, his mouth full, only nodded in greeting, gesturing to the empty seat.

As Jack slid into the chair, he noted the murmurs of the servants who hovered at the edge of the room. Leiden wryly said, “Do sit down,” and it occurred to him that he should have waited for his host’s invitation. Jack sighed. So far, maintaining the illusion that he was an ill-mannered bastard was taking no effort at all.

He turned to Kane, keeping his voice low. “What are they doing here?”

Kane huffed out a small laugh. “Orin and Thad? I ran into them last night and they came back with me. As far as why, your guess is as good as mine.”

“I see,” said Jack. He took a long look at the map, noting that it had been marked in several places, mostly in the lower town: sites of dark mage activity, perhaps? News of events in the lower town didn’t often reach the Blue Quarter. If all of the attacks were focused there, it would explain how Jack hadn’t heard about them during his last stay in Melmond.

He felt a tug on his sleeve and turned to find Lena looking anxiously at him. He bent his head toward hers and quietly said, “Good morning, my lady.”

She blushed. “Jack, I-”

A servant appeared at his elbow as if by magic and placed a heaping plate in front of him, eggs and sausage and some manner of biscuit smothered in peppered gravy. It looked amazing. He ignored it, turning back to Lena.

Her eyes darted to the plate and then back to him. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

He felt again the surge of panic that had gripped him that morning when he thought she had seen him without his shirt. As silly as it was, no matter how many times she had seen his face, he felt embarrassed to reveal it to her now. “Eventually,” he said.

“Please, Jack. You barely ate anything last night.” 

Her hand rested on his arm. He felt the aether stir like a gentle breeze against the back of his neck, but it didn’t move through him, not yet. “I know,” he said, moving his arm on the pretense of unfolding his napkin. “I  _ am _ hungry. I’m just… working my way up to it. Give me a moment.”

She nodded. “Alright.” She folded her hands in her lap but she seemed to be watching him. “Jack, this morning, Orin said-”

Just then, Orin spoke to Leiden, and his quiet words drew Jack’s attention like a shout. “The dark mage attack yesterday. You say it was unexpected. You expected the others?”

Leiden nodded. “To an extent. Their other attacks have all occurred on the full moon.”

Jack froze. He knew of at least one dark magic ritual that required a full moon: the one he himself had learned, however reluctantly, at Elfheim’s Western Keep. Was that what the Brotherhood had been doing here?

“That is curious,” said Orin. “Moreso, the location is curious. These others in the lower town,” he said, gesturing to the marks on the map. “So widespread. No two victims on the same street. And yet now they have struck Farplane Avenue twice in one day.”

“Twice? I only-” Jack said before he could stop himself. “I only heard about one.”

Leiden glared. “Yes, twice. Perhaps if you had risen at a decent hour your brother might have apprised you of current events.” He turned back to Orin to continue the conversation Jack had interrupted, pointing at the south side of the map. “Most of our investigation has been centered on this area. You can see it’s the most often attacked.” He turned as Gilbert, the elderly manservant, approached him with a tray full of letters.

“What’s over there?” Kane asked, pointing to a place that seemed clear of incidents despite being in the heart of the lower town.

“That’s the White Quarter, where the Cathedral is,” said Quincey. “The investigation team is stationed at the guardhouse near there. I can take you around later.”

“You are not on duty,” said Leiden without looking up. He thumbed through the stack of envelopes, setting most of them aside. The others he put back on the tray, dismissing Gilbert with a wave. “And need I remind you, we’re meant to be safeguarding our Cornelian guests in their father’s absence. You can hardly imagine I’ll let any of you wander around the lower town.”

Gilbert bowed, crossed the room, and offered the tray to Ruby. “But father,” said Ruby, taking the remaining letters. “If the dark mages are extending their reach, is anywhere safe? Perhaps we shouldn’t go out at all?”

“At Midsummer?” Leiden shook his head. “No. Yesterday’s events were unusual, but they aren’t necessarily an indication of things to come. We can’t let fear drive us. If the other high houses see that we’re afraid, it could cause a panic. We have social obligations,” he said, gesturing with the letter he’d just opened. “But I’m not suggesting you go out unguarded. Gabriel can arrange a suitable escort to take you wherever you wish to go.”

Ruby shrugged. “If you think that’s best.”

She turned to Quincey, asking him about a play tomorrow. Orin spoke quietly with Thad, showing him something on the map. Jack looked at his food - even through his scarf, it smelled delicious - but still he hesitated.  _ Idiot, _ he thought.  _ Everyone at this table has seen you already. _ Besides, no one was paying him any mind. He glanced toward the gaggle of servants clustered by the door to the kitchens; none seemed to be looking his way.

He reached up, slowly so as not to attract attention, and pulled his scarf down to his chin. It was a struggle to keep his movements slow as he scooped up a forkful of eggs; his stomach told him to throw manners aside and shovel every last morsel into his mouth. He was so hungry that he nearly moaned at the first bite.

Beside him, Lena giggled. When he glanced at her, she was smiling, but she kept her eyes down. “How is it?” she asked.

“Good,” he said, taking another bite. Across the table, Quincey looked over at him, but quickly looked away again. Jack tried not to let it bother him.

“I’m glad,” Lena said. She picked up her fork and took a bite herself, and it was only then that Jack realized he hadn’t seen her eat since he sat down. Had she been waiting for him?

_ I don’t deserve her,  _ he thought, and then he frowned, for he didn’t know where the unbidden thought had come from.

He was still pondering it when Lena set her fork down again. “Jack, listen. I have to tell you something. I spoke with Orin this morning and-”

“Well,” Leiden said loudly, making Lena jump. He tossed the letter he’d been reading onto the table with the others. “It looks as though the Carmine brothers are in high demand.”

“What, both of them?” Quincey said, before crying out suddenly in pain.

“I’m sorry! Was that your foot?” Ruby asked, blinking innocently over the the letter she’d just opened.

Leiden grinned, looking much like his son for an instant. “Yes, both of them. There’s an invitation here for master Jack as well.” He reached over Kane, passing one of the letters down the table to him. “Lord Unne wishes you to dine with him this afternoon.”

“Seward?” said Jack, surprised, but he recognized the handwriting. “How did he know I was here?”

That earned Jack another glare. “ _ Lord  _ Unne,” said Leiden, putting special emphasis on the title, “sent a letter to ask after your well-being yesterday, shortly after Sergeant Quincey escorted you from his home. I took the liberty of telling him you were staying as my guest.” He tapped a finger to his lips in thought. “This is good. I  hadn’t thought what to do with you. I could hardly send a bastard along to the other high houses, you understand. But if  _ he’s _ invited  _ you _ ...” He chuckled. “Gabriel?”

“Sir?” said Quincey.

“Assign a guard detail to accompany Jack and his young lady to the Blue Quarter this afternoon. Choose another to accompany you and Kane. I’m sending Harvey with you, so plan accordingly.”

“Of course, my lord. Where are we going?”

“You’re to introduce Kane to the other high houses. Beginning with yours.” He laughed as Quincey swore in Leifenish with what Jack thought was more than passable pronunciation. “If you call on them first, Sergeant, you can cite your other engagements as reason to leave.”

Quincey strode for the door, grumbling under his breath.

Leiden chose three letters from the pile left in front of him then held them up for his manservant. “Gilbert, send an affirmative reply to each of these and then get Harvey up. And find the Carmines something suitable to wear. Something that fits,” he added, with a slanted look at Jack. “I trust the two of you won’t do anything to disappoint your father.” He stood. “Lord Orin, I expect the chief inspector to arrive within the hour. I shall send for you then.”

“I will await your summons,” said Orin.

At his parting, a few servants moved in and began clearing the table. Jack tried to be subtle about bending over his plate once more, hurrying through his meal. He’d taken three bites in rapid succession when Ruby spoke. “He actually enjoys winding Gabriel up like that. Could you tell? He told me so himself once. I think it’s because father can’t get that kind of reaction out of Harvey, no matter what he does.” She shrugged, picking up one of the letters and skimming its contents, nodding absent-mindedly to the girl who offered to take her plate. She said, “You know, I think I’ll just invite a few ladies over here. Father may not be concerned about dark mages, but one really can’t be too careful.”

“That seems most wise,” said Orin, grinning.

Ruby smiled back at him. “Well, I suppose I should go and respond to these invitations.” She stood, brushing out her skirts with her hands, then said, “Come with me, Miss Lena. You can choose something to wear to Lord Unne’s house. If we’re quick about it, Flora should have time to take up the skirts before you have to go.”

“Alright,” Lena said, setting aside the napkin from her lap as she rose. A servant whisked it away almost as soon as it hit the table.

“Wait, my lady,” Jack said, turning to her. “What was it you meant to tell-”

He stopped. She’d leaned down, and she was close to him, impossibly close to him, her green eyes only an inch away. He could feel the warmth of her skin, could feel her aura sparking against his, the aether swirling between them. “I’ll tell you later,” she said. She darted in, planted a kiss on his cheek, and moved away before he had time to realize what she’d done.

One of the servants tittered but was shushed by the others.

He turned in his chair, watching her go. He could still feel it, the brush of her lips right at the corner of his mouth. She walked arm in arm with Ruby, looking back, only for a fraction of a second; he could see her blushing before she turned her face forward again. The aether seemed to bubble around him like a pot on the boil; if it had wanted in, he couldn’t have held it back.

“Come, young master Shipman,” said Orin. “Bring the map with you. I would have you memorize it before lunchtime.”

“Lunchtime?” Thad whined. “But this map is huge!”

“I would not have you getting lost. Again. Come, come.” The two of them left by the same door Lena had. It swung shut behind them.

_ What just happened? _ Jack thought. He turned back to the table. It was clear save for the fork he still held in his hand; the busy servants had already taken his plate. He could hear a bustle through the kitchen door, but otherwise he was alone with Kane.

Kane swatted him sharply on the side of the head and snapped, “What was that?”

Jack blinked, rubbing the spot Kane struck. “How should I know?  _ She _ kissed  _ me! _ ”

“Not the kiss, stupid! Your reaction! Damn it, Jack! You two are supposed to be betrothed! No one’s going to fall for it if you panic every time she touches you!” He pushed his chair back and strode for the door.

Jack tossed the fork to the table and hurried after him, adjusting his scarf as he went. “Kane!”

Kane shook his head. “You were so cool and collected when we met in Cornelia! You didn’t even flinch when those imps attacked us! Now look at you! Gaping like a landed trout!”

Jack grabbed his shoulder, stopping him at the door. “Where’s the sword, Kane? I can’t do this! I need the sword!”

Kane ran a hand through his hair. He looked sheepish. “Father took it with him.”

“He what?” Jack nearly yelled. He slapped a hand over his mouth, startled by his own outburst. He could still feel the aether agitating around him, and it was like standing on the edge of a high cliff and knowing the fall was inevitable. He pulled his hand away, and his voice was a harsh squeak. “Kane!”

Kane rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry! He thinks he’s heading into a fight. I couldn’t exactly tell him you needed it more, could I? Not without telling him you have no control!”

“You could at least have woken me! I could have spoken to him! I might have thought of something!”

“I know,” Kane said, sighing. “That occurred to me afterward. It’s just… Look, he would have seen you. I didn’t think you’d want that. I had to make a choice. I’m sorry if it was the wrong one.” He pulled the door open, revealing Quincey and Clyne in the hall, standing at ease and talking with one another. They both straightened at the sight of their charges. 

Quincey nodded at Kane. “If you’re ready, we’ve things to do.”

“Alright,” Kane said.

Jack grabbed his arm. He whispered, “I can’t do this, Kane! You know I can’t!” 

“I do know.” Kane patted his shoulder. His eyes looked sincerely apologetic. “But you have to. You said there were things you could do to get by. I know you said they were unpleasant, but it’s only for three days.” 

He walked away with Quincey, leaving Jack behind with Clyne. The hulking guard regarded him with one eyebrow raised, as though Jack had failed some arbitrary inspection.

“Are you with me today?” Jack asked him.

Clyne nodded.

“Lovely.” Jack sighed. He could feel a headache forming between his eyes and he rubbed the spot. “Do I have anywhere to be right now?”

Clyne shook his head.

“Back to bed, then,” Jack said. He strode off, leaving the guard to follow as he traced his own aether trail back through the huge house.

Alone in the room he shared with Kane, it took several minutes before Jack began to feel calmer. He sat cross-legged in the floor, focusing on his breath as Orin had taught him, trying not to think about the aether rioting around him, knowing that had he not drawn from Quincey the day before he would be powerless against that onslaught now. It terrified him, what one kiss, only one brief kiss, could reduce him to.

What if there were more? He  _ wanted _ there to be more.  _ I have to learn to control this, _ he thought. He went back to the emotion-suppressing exercises Cedric had taught him years ago, picturing his feelings as a thing separate and distinguishable from himself. They were still there, but he didn’t have to feel them, not now. The point of the exercise was to put them away, examine them later with cool, critical logic, but more and more Jack had trouble separating himself from what he felt. He wondered again if he might find a solution in the book of dark magic he had taken from Astos. Perhaps Seward’s library would give him the tools he needed to read it properly.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Jack felt his neck and shoulders tighten. Was it her? She had been trying to tell him something, he remembered. He pushed to his feet as the door opened, and, at the sight of Orin there, felt equal parts relief and disappointment.

“Master Jack, I must speak with you.”

“Um,” Jack muttered. “Very well.” He gestured toward the room’s only chair. “Sit, please.”

The old man nodded, making himself comfortable.

Jack sat on the freshly-made bed, wondering absently when the servants had come to the room and how they had known he was gone. Orin sat straight and regal with his hands folded in his lap and he watched Jack without speaking, long enough that Jack began to fidget. At last, Jack prompted, “What did you need?”

“I require a black mage’s perspective. You have ways, do you not, of identifying one another through the aether sight?”

“Yes,” said Jack. “A black mage’s aura interacts with the aether around him. Others are more calm. It’s not always accurate, but it’s usually a sign.”

“This is what you see when you look at young master Shipman?”

Jack nodded. “It’s more obvious now than when we first met. I imagine that will only continue.”

“I feared as much.” The old man turned to the window, gazing out thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in worry. “The dark mages in Cornelia, they have been known to take children, one or two a year. We have long suspected these children might have black magic abilities. Only twice have we known for sure. Yesterday, I encountered a dark mage in the city. He was tracking Thadius.”  

“Gods,” Jack breathed. 

“You understand my concern,” said Orin. 

Jack nodded, thinking hard. That was all he needed, another thing to worry about. As if it wasn’t enough that they were taking white mages and that Jack was sick at the thought that they might learn of Lena’s presence somehow.  _ Wait… Lena! _ A horrifying thought struck him: Thad wasn’t the only one with a black mage’s aura. “Orin, if they take children... What would the Brotherhood do to an adult black mage?”

“You must exercise caution as well, master Jack. The Brotherhood have little use for black mages who do not share their cause. Once they know you are here, if they have reason to believe they cannot convert you, they will kill you.”

Jack groaned.

“I am afraid there is more,” Orin said. “Thadius has learned aether sight.”

“Oh?” said Jack. “That’s… I mean, it’s not entirely unexpected. It was bound to happen eventually.”

The monk nodded. “He will need training.”

“Of course,” said Jack. “I’ll see to it. Once we leave Melmond, I can start teaching him the-”

“No,” Orin said, cutting him off with a raised hand. “You will begin tonight, when you have concluded your business with this Lord Unne.”

“Tonight?” Jack said, choking a little. “Here? Orin, we can’t be mages here. If I’m caught teaching him - gods, if he’s caught learning it! - we don’t know what these people would do to us.”

“And what will the people of Melmond do to young master Shipman if he loses control of his abilities in a crowded street?” Orin asked.

“As long as he doesn’t try anything, that won’t be an issue. I’ll talk with him. He’s smart enough not to risk-” Jack started to say.

Orin interrupted him again. “The aether wants to be drawn. You told me this in Elfheim. You, with your years of training, lamented to me the impossibility of keeping it at bay.”

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s not-”

The monk talked right over him, his tone firm. “You are an oath-sworn black mage, yet you are uncomfortable without your pretty staff. Is this not so? What chance does Thadius have?”

The aether swirled around him. It didn’t rush into him, but it was a distraction nonetheless. Jack couldn’t stop his soul from tensing in response to it, the reflex of years. He raised his voice, trying to get a word in edgewise. “Look, the problem I have with the aether… it’s rare. Thad doesn’t have it.”

“How can you be sure? Less than two turns of the moon ago, we had no reason to suspect he was a black mage at all.” It was the loudest Jack had ever heard Orin speak. 

_ He’s really worried, _ Jack realized. He had never noticed before how much the old man truly cared for the boy. “I never had to learn to draw on the aether. I had to learn not to. If he hasn’t drawn on it at his age, he’s safe.”

“You say this!” Orin said, on the verge of shouting now. “But if he draws on it -  _ when _ he draws on it - what if he cannot stop? How can you know he is not like you?”

“Because he’s not a dark mage!” Jack snapped.

The room went deathly silent. The fear Jack had felt before he spoke, in the instant he knew he would say the words, was nothing compared to the fear that gripped him afterwards, a horrible sinking feeling. He couldn’t breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut, ashamed to look at the old man. 

“You… are a dark mage?” Orin asked, his voice quiet once more.

“Oh, gods,” Jack muttered. He sat forward on the bed, pulling his scarf free as he hung his head between his knees. “Gods, I’m going to be sick…” 

“All this time, you have been a dark mage?”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. He tried to think of something else to say, some way to explain himself, but all he could muster was to repeat, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“So…” Orin took a long, deep breath, sighing it out slowly. “So the boy will be alright?” 

Jack looked up. Orin sat looking at him with such expectation, such hope, that Jack could only nod in answer to his question.

The monk sighed once more. “Thank you. You have set my mind at ease.”

“Orin,” Jack said.

He didn’t know what he meant to say next, nor would he ever know. At that moment, there came a knock at the door, and Lena’s voice calling, “Jack? May I come in?”

Jack leaped to his feet, looking at the door in abject horror. Orin stood and stepped toward it.

“Don’t,” Jack whispered. “Orin, don’t tell her. Please. Please, don’t.”

The monk stopped with his hand on the doorknob and he looked at Jack awhile, his head cocked to the side like he was watching a bug on a window, but then he turned back to the door. He smiled at Lena as he opened it for her. 

“Oh! Lord Orin!” She looked past him, toward Jack, then looked between them, eyes worried. “Have I interrupted something?”

“Jack and I were just discussing dark mages.”

She gasped, and her eyes went wide. That response, that instant fear, tore at Jack’s heart. She hadn’t known he was a dark mage when she kissed him. After Orin told her, she would never kiss him again.

Orin patted her shoulder, motioning her into the room. “Do not fret. Jack was simply explaining to me a fundamental difference between black mages and dark mages. Come. Sit. I would speak with you both together.” He returned to the chair, sitting primly, hands folded in front of him. He smiled as Lena sat upon the bed, then looked up at Jack, waiting.

Jack was still wrestling with the realization that Orin hadn’t told Lena his secret. He looked over at her sitting on the bed. She looked concerned. Doubtless, she could feel his inner turmoil. Jack eased down beside her, stuffing his worry into the back of his mind and concentrating on the situation in front of him.

When Jack was settled, Orin nodded, turning his wrinkled smile on Lena. “I must say, you did very well this morning, Miss Lena. The kiss was a nice touch.”

“What?” said Jack. He turned on the bed to face Lena better, but she was looking at the floor. She shifted nervously, her skin blushing the brilliant red of a severe sunburn. 

“I spoke with Lena before breakfast this morning,” Orin said. “I instructed her to behave more affectionately toward you.”

“Is that so?” He still watched Lena. He’d kept his voice low, but he saw her flinch at his question as if he’d yelled it. So it was true. Suddenly, he had no trouble separating himself from his emotions, for the disappointment that flared in him at her contrite expression was so sharp and keen that he couldn’t process it. He shoved it down, closing it off in a corner of his mind and walling it in. “I see. Might I ask why?”

“I understand there is real danger to white mages here in Melmond,” said Orin. “I agree that you must keep her close. But while Kane’s ploy to pass Miss Lena off as your betrothed is clever, it is not enough to stand before Melmond and announce that this is so with words alone. You must behave as a pair betrothed if you are to uphold this premise.”

He watched her the whole time, hoping for some reaction other than embarrassment. “I see,” he said again. “Is that what you were trying to tell me this morning?”

Lena nodded. 

“Well,” he said, turning to face Orin again. Remembering his scarf was down, he pulled it back up. He tried to keep his tone light, as if he didn’t care. “That’s one mystery solved. I’ll admit I was feeling rather confused about that kiss.”

“Your confusion was apparent,” said Orin. “And that will not suffice. You must try harder to maintain this illusion, master Jack.”

“She caught me off guard,” he said. “It won’t happen again.” 

Orin nodded. “Good, good. But that is not what I wished to discuss with the two of you. Kane and Thadius already know, but you must be made aware that the Brotherhood is using white magic to aid their cause.”

From the corner of his eye, Jack saw Lena look up sharply from the floor. “That shouldn’t be possible. White magic  _ can’t _ be used by evil,” she said. “Their souls won’t take the spells.”

Orin shrugged. “Not everyone who joins an evil cause is evil,” he said. “People’s lives take strange turns. It is possible that the Brotherhood has acquired a white mage who does not understand what sort of organization he has allied himself with. For now, we must discuss the spells you can use to defend yourself against them. In your studies, have you come across Dispel?”

Lena shook her head. “I haven’t studied spells. I only know Cure and Protect.”

Jack turned to her again. “Really? That’s it? How is that possible?”

“It is sadly not unusual in Cornelia,” said Orin. 

“But… only two?”

Lena said, “Honestly, Jack, there are mages at White Hall who never learn more than that! Father Todd only knows Cure, and he’s a high priest!” 

“But you told me you’ve been an apprentice for seven years! What were you doing?” 

She blushed once more, sputtering, “C-cure is the biggest white spell there is! You can’t- you can’t just learn it and… and move on! There’s the Curing of humans, the Curing of livestock - they’re completely different! Curing poison versus Curing disease, Curing muscle versus Curing bones, Curing-”

“Yes, yes,” said Orin. “It is a wonderful spell. Hush now.” He went to the room’s desk and rummaged in the drawers, coming up with a scrap of parchment and a short charcoal stick. “Ah, here we are.” He leaned over the desk, sketching. “I am no mage, but I have worked with them long enough to have memorized the aetheric design.”

As he drew, Lena said, “But Orin, I… I can’t read an aether diagram.”

“You can’t?” Jack said. 

“I learned once,” she said defensively. “But I haven’t looked at one in years. No one’s ever stopped me in the middle of a healing and asked me to diagram what I was doing!”

“But how do you learn new sp-” He trailed off. She  _ didn’t _ learn new spells. She’d just said that. 

“I don’t know!” she wailed. “My father taught me Protect! And I’ve known Cure longer than I can remember!”

Orin finished his drawing and held it up for them. “I will rely on Jack to remind you how it is read.”

“What does it do?” Jack asked.   

“It does nothing. It undoes. This spell can be used to reverse any beneficial white spell.”

“I’ve seen that before,” said Lena, reaching for the diagram, pulling it in for a closer look. “It’s in my book.”

“What book? You never told me about any book,” said Jack.

She nodded. “Hold on. I’ll get it.” She hurried through the connecting door into the next room. Jack could hear the sounds of her digging for something and then she reappeared carrying a small book bound in a white cover. She flipped it open, searching for a particular page. “Here it is.”

Jack stood to see it,  and she passed it to him. The illustration appeared to be the legend of Saint Ffamran fighting the five-headed dragon, not a simple drawing, but a work of art in full, vibrant color. The dragon’s scales seemed to sparkle. A trick woven into the warding, perhaps? Jack could feel the wards on the book, spells against time and the elements keeping it looking as new as the day it was made, wards of extremely high quality. The saint’s raised sword glinted, while his free hand made the sign of the staff; in front of that sign, keeping the dragon at bay, was the same design as Orin’s hasty sketch in shimmering gold paint. Adjacent to the picture, the spell was described and several practical applications listed in stylized Leifenish calligraphy.  

Jack flipped through the book. Though most of the pages contained text, he did find a number of aether diagrams in shining gold, as well as more illustrations depicting stories from legend. There was Dagona healing Leviathan, and on her hands, an aether diagram. There were the knights of Bahamut warding the citadel, and on the wall behind them, another diagram.  _ Teaching through stories, _ Jack thought. It was so stereotypically white mage as to be laughable: how better to teach a spell to white mages, who thrived on their love for people, than to describe how people had used that spell in the past?

It was also an exceedingly old-fashioned method of teaching, one that had fallen out of favor more than a century ago, and an indication, perhaps, of the book’s age. He wondered if he would know the title. He turned to the front of the book, seeking a title page, but he found only a Leifenish inscription:  _ With all my arts, I gift this book to the world. _ He read it twice over, and when he realized what he held in his hands, the Leifenish word he spat was not a word he read there.

“I believe Lord Redden has lectured you on the use of such language, young master Jack,” said Orin.

_ “Chusgino,” _ he swore. “Lena! Do you know what this is?”

“A white magic tome?” she said.

“This? This is an Ars Paladia! An  _ original _ Ars Paladia!” One of only eight in existence.  _ The Paladin Arts _ were each hand-written by a white mage known only as David, whose extensive talents had not only been in perfecting the spells but in the painting arts as well. If the stories were true, David earned more wealth than he could ever give away, and in his old age had created these books as his masterpieces, each one taking him years. The paints in the illustrations were made of powdered gemstones, and the golden aether diagrams of real gold. 

Lena shook her head. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“ _ Ramuh guhnasdi ayu! _ It’s- It’s extremely valuable! Where did you get this?”

“It was a gift,” she said, shuffling her feet. 

“A gift? Lena! This book is worth more than the manor we’re standing in! No one just gives that away!”

“Aryon did,” she said, shrugging apologetically.

He clamped his jaws shut to stop another curse word from escaping. Aryon had given her an Ars Paladia. The prince. Jack had given her a festival mask that cost eight lousy gil. No wonder she had only pretended to kiss him.

She went on, “I meant to ask you to translate it for me, but you’ve been so busy studying that other-”

“Wait,” he said. “Translate…? You mean to say you don’t know any Leifenish either?”

Her eyes flashed. She stomped up to him, snatching the precious book from his hands. “I’m dreadfully sorry my education hasn’t been up to your exacting standards!” she cried, storming through the connecting door and slamming it behind her. 

He stared at the closed door, the sound of the slam echoing through the room, until Orin began to chuckle. Jack turned to the twinkle-eyed monk and snarled, “I’m glad  _ you _ at least find this amusing!”

Orin nodded. “It is good to hammer out these quibbles before the wedding,” he said, his chuckle transitioning into a cackle as Jack continued to glare. He took a moment to compose himself, but he could not entirely hide his smile. “Forgive me. I should not joke. Clearly, you were on edge.”

“You didn’t tell her,” Jack said. “I was certain you would tell her.”

“No,” Orin said, serious now. “Nor will I.”

“Thank you.”

“It is not for you I do this, but for her. Should anyone suspect you, they will question your friends. Would you have her lie for you?” He stood and went to the door. “I will send Thadius to you this evening,” he said, bowing as he left.  

Jack sat on the bed, rubbing his temples, wondering how his life could go so very wrong.

* * *

Lena wondered what was different today as she and Jack walked through Melmond’s streets escorted by four armed guards. Yesterday, when the lot of them had been taken under guard to Leiden’s manor, their passage had left the citizens of Melmond staring and whispering. Today, people only stepped swiftly out of their way; few looked twice at them. 

As far as she could tell, the only difference was in how they were dressed. She walked through the muddy streets in a red dress that stopped at mid-calf: a popular fashion among the other ladies she saw, as were the carved wooden clogs that fit over her regular shoes, making her taller by a few inches. Jack walked with her, dressed in a black and red jacket that looked over-warm for the weather but on close inspection proved to be made of thin, lightweight material, more like an extra shirt. It matched her dress, and Lena suspected Ruby had had a word with Gilbert to make it so.

Even Jack’s covered face was not unusual today. Though Ruby had explained that it was tomorrow, the last day of Midsummer, when it was traditional to cover one’s face, Lena was finding that it was common enough to see masks on the first two days, moreso on the second. Jack’s new scarf, also red, seemed little different from the colored cloths many other people wore, as some men and women prefered such informal disguises to the whimsical masks. 

Lena wore her own mask, the one Jack had bought her, hoping he might notice, hoping he might say something about it. Ruby had despaired that its green feathers wouldn’t match the rest of her outfit, but Lena had worn it anyway, a sort of peace-offering to the agitated black mage. Though they walked through town together, they might as well have been miles apart for all the attention he paid her. He had not offered her his arm as he usually did, had scarcely looked her way. 

They reached a corner, and he turned, paying no mind to either her or the guards who walked with them. The largest guard, a man with a highly unfortunate nose, said, “Lord Unne’s house is this way.” He added a hasty, “My lord,” when Jack turned those expressionless blue eyes on him. 

“I’m aware. But the harbor is this way, and I need to fetch something from our ship.” He walked on.

Lena stepped quickly to keep up with him, her shorter legs taking two steps for each of his.  _ He’s still angry, _ she thought, wondering if it was because of that kiss. She had known when she did it that he was uncomfortable with such displays, but Orin had been very convincing, arguing that not only her safety but Jack’s was on the line. She should have spoken with him first, to warn him, to ask his permission. Or… Maybe it wasn’t that at all. Perhaps he thought her dull? He valued learning so highly, he must have been disappointed to learn how lacking her own magical education had been compared to his. 

All she had was speculation; she couldn’t read anything from him. She could feel the guards, though, quite easily. Her soul sight told her they were good men - or they tried to be, which was good enough for her. Three of them she recognized as having been among those who escorted them to the manor the day before. One was daydreaming, distracted by the festival decorations they passed; the other two were alert, professional, guarding her and Jack because they’d been ordered to and only there to get paid. 

The last, the large one, was more complicated. He didn’t seem to care about Lena one way or the other, but he regarded Jack with deep suspicion, following him with what Lena could only describe as morbid curiosity, as if he were certain Jack would do wrong and that he was only waiting to learn when. Well, her White Hall education had been good for something: there were entire lessons on putting irascible patients at ease. Lena summoned up a disarming smile and stepped closer to the guard. 

“What’s your name?” she asked.

He seemed startled, confused. “Clyne, miss. Corporal Nicholas Clyne.”

“A pleasure, Corporal,” she said, slowing her steps to a more normal pace. “How did you get stuck with us today? Did you draw a short straw?”

“No, miss. Just following orders.”

“Oh. And here I was hoping it was because you prefered our company to Kane’s.” He cracked a smile at that. She’d surprised him, but it hadn’t been much of a stretch to imagine that if he mistrusted Jack so, he might feel the same toward Kane and that a remark at Kane’s expense - even one that was only lightly disparaging - would earn her some favor. “Are you from Melmond, Corporal?”

“Yes, miss.”

She kept on in that way, a series of idle questions. The guard kept his answers short, which Lena suspected anyone else would have found discouraging, but she could feel that he enjoyed being asked - he was simply unsure of his words. With his large size and flat, prominent nose, she suspected he didn’t often have the opportunity to converse with people who weren’t intimidated by him. The other guards, including the daydreamer, listened. When she felt that she had their interest, she worked the conversation around to learning their names as well: Chad, Hector, and Bentley. 

By the time they’d reached the harbor, Jack walked several paces ahead of them, probably still irritated, if Lena had to guess. The guards didn’t seem to care until they reached the docks, when Chad and Bentley rushed forward to take the lead. They stopped Jack at the  _ Sahagin Prince’s _ gangplank, waiting for Clyne, although Cole and Felder stood at the top calling friendly greetings. 

“Tell us what you needed, and we’ll get it,” Clyne rumbled.

“Afraid I’ll sail away?” Jack said, staring the guard down. Despite how shy he usually was, she’d noticed he could be downright confrontational when facing a bully.  

_ Or someone he views as a bully, _ Lena thought. Clyne didn’t answer, but it was clear to Lena he only found Jack’s attitude annoying and was prepared to be stubborn. She touched Jack lightly on the arm, smiling at the hulking guardsman. “How would it be if I went aboard? Would that be acceptable?” 

Clyne nodded. 

She turned her smile to Jack, but had trouble holding it in place when he looked at her with that same flat gaze. He said, “If you would please bring me the old book I’ve been studying. I believe you know which I mean.”

“Yes,” she said, knowing he couldn’t describe it in more detail in front of their guards. “Anything else?”

“There’s a ledger, brown leather cover, about this big,” he said, holding up his fingers. “It’s with the book.”

“Alright.” 

She hurried aboard, welcomed by Cole and Felder, who seemed pleased to see her, if confused by her armed escort. Cole continued to stand guard, making faces down at them, while Felder crossed the deck with her. “What’s this about you staying at some mansion?” he asked.

“Melmond Manor,” she said, her wooden clogs clacking against the deck boards as she went below. “It’s a long story.”

“Aye, we’ve heard some of it. Redden sent word.”

He followed her to the little table where Jack had spent so much of their journey from Elfheim. She picked up the old book that she knew had once belonged to Astos and gathered it up along with the journal Jack had described. She noticed then how quiet the ship was. “Are you and Cole the only ones here?” 

Felder frowned. “Biggs is in the Galley. Captain’s on an errand. Captain says we’re stuck here ‘til the revels end. Our punishment for walloping the landsmen in that fight. Load of bollocks.”  

“You  _ did _ cheat,” Lena pointed out. “So the others have gone into town?”

“More or less. Redden came by at an unholy hour this morning. Gus and Leo left with him. Think they’re going south somewhere.”

“They did? Gus and Leo?” said Lena. The big man who often steered the ship was watchful and careful, while the younger Leo, not much older than Jack, was both calm and capable in a fight. They would take good care of the bard. “Oh, Kane will be glad to hear that.” 

Above decks again, she checked on Oscar - the baby ochu snored contentedly in a sunbeam - and bid the two youngest pirates farewell. Cole planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek just before she descended the gangplank, making her blush. The Melmond guards didn’t so much as bat an eye though their amusement was a palpable thing. Jack’s face betrayed no emotion at all. He glanced at the books she handed him and slipped them into the pack he carried over his shoulder, where her copy of the Ars Paladia already rested, a flash of white leather that seemed to gleam before he closed up the pack. Then he reached for her hand and firmly pulled her arm through his. She felt something from him at the physical contact that she couldn’t name, an unpleasant feeling, like the hiss of a snake, but it faded quickly.  

The Blue Quarter seemed more colorful than it had the day before, though that was perhaps Lena’s imagination. The festival decorations hadn’t changed, nor had the brightly painted houses, but she felt more relaxed than she had then, knowing that the mysterious stranger who had followed them that first morning had only been Gabriel Quincey, and, of course, knowing where she was going. Walking through what she had learned was the city’s center of art and culture was far more enjoyable when she wasn’t wondering what was around the next corner. She felt safe there, holding to Jack’s arm and surrounded by guards.

Seward’s house, as well, was more interesting the second time. Focused on her destination, rather than on every other house on the street, she noticed more details. The jarring colors had been applied with apparent care: the purple and yellow were surprisingly complementary, while the green, which had the day before seemed so prominent to her, was, she saw now, used sparingly, a bright pop of contrast around the doors and windows. “You know, I do believe Seward’s house is the nicest on this street,” she said, looking about.

Jack glanced down at her, and his eyes were normal again, kind, not the cold, guarded eyes he had worn since that morning. “You should tell him so, my lady. He would like that,” he said quietly.

Seward’s door opened while she and Jack were still climbing the porch steps, and they were greeted once more by Liza. Remembering how roughly the woman had hugged Jack the day before, Lena reclaimed her arm, but she was completely unprepared when Liza pulled both of them into her embrace. “Oh, master Jack! It gave me such a fright to see you taken by the guards yesterday! I was that worried for you!”

“Hello, Liza,” Jack said, sounding somewhat strangled. 

She released her hold on them, pushing Jack out at arm’s reach to look him up and down, then grabbing Lena by the shoulders for a similar check. She patted Lena’s cheek. “You’ll not know how relieved I was when his lordship told us all you’d only been taken as Lord Leiden’s guests! Though whoever treats his guests in that way, I should like to know?” she said, glaring at Clyne and the others. “I suppose they’ll be wanting to come in?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Clyne.

“It’s fine,” said Jack, straightening his clothes. “They’re here for our safety.” Lena could feel that he viewed that statement as a lie.

Liza snorted. “Well, and you’re safe enough in here! They can wait in the foyer or they can go back and tell Lord Leiden hello from me.” She showed Lena a short shelf just inside the door that held a few pairs of wooden clogs like the ones she wore but larger, made for a man’s feet. Lena slipped her clogs off and added them to the others. Then, because it seemed silly to wear it inside, she reached up to untie her mask. Liza took it, retied the ribbons, and hung it by its string on a hook beside one of Seward’s hats.

“The foyer will be fine, ma’am,” said Clyne. Everything about him indicated he had expected no less. He and the other guards were clearly used to such treatment. Lena could feel that Chad and Bentley were steeling themselves for a boring afternoon, while Hector had already gone back to daydreaming.

“Couldn’t you-” Lena said, stopping as Liza, Jack, and three of the four guards all focused their gazes on her. “That is, couldn’t you find them something to eat? We’re here for lunch, after all.” Jack cocked an eyebrow at her, and she felt again the hissing sensation she had felt from him before. Was he annoyed with her? Had he really been annoyed with her so infrequently that she had not had occasion to identify the sensation until now? “They’re only doing their jobs,” she explained. “It’s not their fault they’ve been assigned to guard us.”

Jack nodded. “Liza, do as she says.” 

“Right you are.” The plump maid waved her hands at the guards as though she were a mother hen shooing her chicks, directing them toward a bench along the wall that could have seated all four of them in a tight squeeze. “Over there with you. I’ll have another chair brought ‘round.” To Jack, she said, “His lordship’s in the study. Lunch will be ready in a few minutes. Head to the dining room whenever you like.”

“Thank you,” Jack said. He held out a hand for Lena, and she was so glad to see him do it that she took it instantly. The uncomfortable hiss faded to a muted buzz as he led her to Seward’s workroom, and it vanished altogether when Seward greeted them.

“Ah, you’re here! Excellent! And Miss Mateus as well!” He bowed with a flourish that would have been impressive from a man half his size. “You look radiant, my dear.” He smiled, clapping Jack’s shoulder. “I was relieved to learn you weren’t in any sort of trouble after your dramatic exit yesterday! Is it only the two of you? It’s just that I dug out some mechanical diagrams for your friend, as he seemed so interested in my machina!”

“I’m afraid so,” said Jack. 

“A shame!” Seward looked crestfallen, then smiled once more. “But that does leave more time for you and me to have a look at that antique journal I was telling you about!”

Jack shook his head. “I’m afraid I won’t be much company either. I…” He sighed. “There’s something I need to work on. I was hoping I could look at whatever you have on high Leifenish?”

“Of course! Whatever you need! I’m sure you know where I keep everything.” He pointed vaguely toward one of the room’s many bookcases, then turned to Lena. “Perhaps you’d like to look at that journal with me, dear? How’s your Leifenish? You did say you were also a mage?”

She blushed for what must have been the hundredth time that day. “Apparently a poor one,” she said.

“No,” said Jack, his eyes gone sharp and bright as he looked at her. “I don’t think that, my lady. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He turned to Seward, unshouldering the pack he carried. “But it has come to my attention that she doesn’t know Leifenish. She needs a spellbook translated. I thought you might like to be the one to help her with it.”

Seward looked at Jack much as one would look at a dog that had just widdled on the rug: a scoffing, slant-eyed look. “Me? Now, Jack, you know how I feel about magic. I’ve no interest in spellbooks! If she must learn, I’ve any number of primers and-” 

“You’ll be interested in this one,” said Jack, producing the white leather book and holding it out, open to the first page.

Seward’s lips moved as he read over the inscription. “‘With all my arts…’” His eyes widened, and he gasped, reaching for the book with the same soft and dreamy expression as a father reaching for his newborn babe for the first time. “Oh!” he said reverently. “Oh,  _ dagona goweli! _ Beautiful!” He gasped again as he turned pages and came to one of the shimmering illustrations. “Beautiful!”

“Will you help her read it?” Jack asked.

“Of course! Of course! It would be my pleasure!” said Seward, his excitement bubbling over and tickling Lena’s nose - it contrasted so sharply with her own disappointment, for she had wanted to read the book with Jack - but then worry and confusion bloomed up, like a pillow whopping her in the face. “But…” said Seward, looking up from the book he held in both hands, looking at her. “But, my dear, even I know the Ars Paladia is no  _ black _ magic book. Are you… Are you a  _ white _ mage?” 

She tried, unsuccessfully, not to roll her eyes. “Has  _ everyone _ heard of this book except me?”

“You can’t breathe a word of this outside this room, Seward. Not to anyone,” said Jack. “If I had any other choice, I would have kept it from you too.”

“I’ll swear on whichever deity you prefer if it means I can study this book!” Seward said, setting the book gently on a worktable and sitting to read it, ignoring his guests completely.

Lena watched him a moment as Jack shook his head beside her. Quietly, she said, “He won’t tell anyone. We can trust him. I can feel it.”

Jack sighed. “I know. But I would rather have kept it from everyone, even him.” He shrugged, looking at her once more. “Start with the spell Orin told you about. It sounds as though you’ll need it.”

She nodded, but she must have made a face for he quickly asked, “What is it?”

“I’ve never learned a spell from a book before.” She hated to say it, embarrassed as she already was over her lack of magical knowledge and worried that he thought less of her for it, but she couldn’t lie to him. “Do you really think I’ll be able to?” 

He made a little “hmm” sound, as though she’d just asked a particularly interesting question and he was considering it. He looked about, spying a pen and inkwell on a nearby worktable and beckoning her over to it with him. He found a blank scrap of paper and scratched out a design which he then held out to her. “Care to guess what this is?”

She looked carefully and found she recognized it from her lessons years ago. “I know it’s meant to be Cure, but I don’t remember how  _ that _ is supposed to lead to the spell.”

“This is the foundation. Any aether diagram only records the first steps. The spells grow too complicated after that. You have to learn to finish them by feel, but if you start them correctly, I find the end often extends logically from there. Most of the time, anyways. It’s… it’s hard to explain.” He pointed. “They start in the center and move outward. The drawing is flat, but the flow is spherical. Those lines indicate direction. Focus here.” He covered part of the diagram with one hand, framing the center between first finger and thumb. “Try to memorize this part.”

She did as he asked, concentrating, though it still seemed little more than a scribble. When she felt she could have redrawn it from memory, she nodded.

He took the drawing from her and set it aside, taking one of her hands between his palms. “You can see the aether inside me, yes?”

She nodded, her mouth going dry at the closeness of the gesture.

“Watch,” he said, and she felt the aether move. His eyes went distant, showing no corona, for the aether he worked came from within. Again, he said, “Watch. I’ll go slowly, but I can’t hold it long.” 

She focused on his aura. It was weaker than normal, but she set that observation aside for now. This close, she could feel how hard he concentrated, how difficult it was for him to cast using only the blue flame of his reserves when every instinct told him to draw the aether from outside.  _ He has less, _ she realized.  _ He carries so much less than I do. _ It was a difference between white and black mages that she was already aware of, but she had never before considered how she personally compared to Jack. It surprised her when he formed the core of a Cure spell just how much of him it took. 

And then she saw it: that twist of the aether that mimicked the diagram, the way the rest of the spell formed around it. “Oh!” she said. “That’s it! I think I understand!”

He grunted as he let it go, like a man setting down a heavy burden. Closing his eyes, he seemed to stagger where he stood, his grip tightening on her hand. “Good,” he mumbled. “Because that’s as much of it as I can do.”

She steered him toward a chair while casting a Cure of her own, seeing, with some satisfaction, how it contained what she knew of the diagram, but also seeing how effortless it was for her compared to the half-spell Jack had done. Completing that would nearly have drained him. Still, the incomplete spell should not have physically affected him so. She rested her hand on his chest and looked at his aura properly. He looked down at her hand then raised an eyebrow at her.

Her diagnosis took mere seconds. “You’re not eating enough,” she said, bracing herself to once more feel the harsh buzz of his annoyance. It never came.  He only continued to look at her like that. Flustered, she went on, “You’re going to make yourself ill; I can see it.”

He nodded. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing we came here to eat.” 

It took less convincing than Lena thought it might to get Seward to leave the Ars Paladia behind and head to the dining room. The fat scholar never missed a meal, and of course he wouldn’t dream of having the valuable tome, warded or not, anywhere near a table full of food. He did, however, grab a stack of notes on the Leifenish alphabet, which was larger and more complex than the modern plain speech alphabet that had descended from it. He spread them across the table in front of Lena as the three of them ate, and he and Jack worked together to explain each symbol to her. Jack took on that lecturing tone that he got sometimes, all pretense of shyness gone, and Lena enjoyed seeing him in that way. Save for the presence of Seward, it was how she had imagined it would be to have Jack translate the Ars Paladia with her, and for an hour she was happy.  

When their meal ended, however, they returned to the study. Jack claimed a table in the corner near the high Leifenish books, which seemed to Lena to be located as far across the room as possible from her and Lord Unne. Lena sat on the side of the table that faced the black mage, and she didn’t have to feel his emotions to know that whatever he was finding in that strange book was displeasing him: every time she looked up from her own task, she saw him rubbing at his temples or his forehead, or pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Her own task went better. Seward was a patient teacher. He enjoyed his subject and enjoyed sharing it. He did not translate for her, but guided her through the text, word by word, making her translate for herself with the aid of a Leifenish dictionary, stopping her to explain pronunciation rules and verb conjugations as they came up. He was pleased whenever Lena figured out a word or phrase correctly but undeterred when she got things wrong. 

By the time she’d worked through the few pages of text that accompanied the Dispel illustration, her brain felt so jumbled with grammar rules and Leifenish spellings that she doubted she could remember how to write her own name. “You’re a natural at this, my dear,” said Seward. “Why, you’ll be fluent before the leaves turn at this rate!”

“I doubt that very much,” Lena said. 

He stood and stretched, looking at the late evening light coming through the windows. “Near time for dinner, if I’m any judge. You’ll stay and have another meal with me, won’t you?”

“Oh, um, of course. If it’s time for one,” she said. He offered her his arm as Jack always did, and as she stood to take it, she wondered if Jack had learned the courtly behavior from this quaint Melmond lord. “Jack?” she called. “Will you come to dinner?”

“In a minute,” he said, an automatic response. She could feel the steady, unwavering hum of his concentration on the book in front of him, and she knew he hadn’t really heard.

Seward chuckled. “I’ve seen him like this before. Don’t worry: I’ll send Liza with a plate for him. She can be very forceful about standing over him until he’s eaten.” 

They found the plump housekeeper in a small room near the front door, sitting at a table with Clyne and his men, playing a round of Over Onion Knight with a pipe between her lips. She’d a pile of Melmond guilders in front of her that was perhaps a third the size of the one in front of Corporal Clyne. Clyne held his cards close, his face blank and innocent, and Lena could feel nothing from him; he was as closed off to her in that moment as Jack had ever been. Chad, Hector, and Bentley had only a handful of the little silver coins left between them, but they smiled openly, as entertained by the game as if they were observing a jester. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Seward, “but Jack’s fallen into his book again.”

“Right you are, my lord,” said Liza, setting her cards down. To the guards she said, “I won’t be a moment.”

Chad and Bentley watched her go, confused. “She’s not worried we’ll cheat while she’s gone?” said Chad.

“I’d say she’s confident it won’t matter,” Seward said. “If I were you, gentlemen, I should quit now. She lets you win until it suits her.”

Bentley laughed. “She hasn’t played our Corporal before! He’s been the West Gate Guardhouse’s Onion Knight champion for three years running!”

Seward chuckled. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Dinner was a simple meal of vegetables with a roll of crusty, buttered bread. There were two sausages on Lena’s plate, but she found the first few bites so spicy that she couldn’t finish even one of them. Seward told her tales of his brother, Seaworth, who was another Leifenish scholar but rather more hands-on about it. Seaworth traveled the world seeking out Leifenish ruins and studying them. Seward hadn’t heard from him in some months but Lena could feel that he wasn’t worried. Seward told her that although Seaworth wrote home often, the rough seas had made it difficult for his letters to come through. Sometimes Seaworth would show up for a visit weeks before his letters arrived.  

When their meal was finished, Seward said, “I believe I should like to go and watch Liza take those young men at cards. Would you care to join me?”

“No, thank you,” said Lena. “I’m going to see how Jack’s doing.” He offered to walk her back to the study, but she told him she knew the way.

Jack didn’t even look up at the sound of the door. In one hand, he held a pen above a page of notes, while his other held the book open on the table. At his elbow was a messy plate, empty but for the knife and fork that lay across it. That and the way his scarf draped loose around his shoulders suggested that he had eaten.

He hadn’t noticed her. Lena approached him, but she slowed her steps when she was still several feet away. She could feel him. It was an unpleasant mix of emotions - sadness and frustration - but it was the most she had ever felt from him at once, and at the greatest distance. Her instinct to hurry to his side and offer a white mage’s comfort warred with her fascination, and she stopped. 

She had known for some time now that whatever method he used to close off his emotions was a conscious one. She had felt his fear as nightmares plagued him in his sleep, had felt his amusement seeping through when he was relaxed and happy while joking around with Kane. Now, he was distracted, too focused on translating his book to lock his emotions down. If she asked him what was wrong, he would shut himself away again. Did that mean he didn’t want her to ask? That he didn’t want her help?  

She didn’t know what to do. She had never known someone she couldn’t read before, had always known right away if someone disliked her or found her annoying. She had navigated through conversations by tailoring her responses to the reactions she felt from others. Without such cues, Jack so often left her floundering.

While she stood there wondering, he sighed and sat back, tossing down the pen as he rubbed his eyes with both hands. When he finished, he looked her way, and if he was surprised to see her there, he gave no sign. “My lady,” he said.

Lena could feel his frustrations shrinking, as if the sight of another person reminded him not to feel. She crossed the room toward him and sat in a chair near the worktable he used. “You seem to be having a difficult time,” she said.

He laughed bitterly. “I can’t decide which is worse: the high Leifenish, or this book’s calligraphy.”

“That bad?” She craned her neck to see the book for herself, but Jack was already closing it.

“I think I’d like to call it a day,” he said. “I’m not finding what I’d hoped.”

“What was it you were looking for?”

“Answers.” He stood, gathering his notes into a tidy pile. “We should leave our books here, both of us. It wouldn’t do for anyone snooping to find spellbooks among our things.” 

“Yes,” Lena said. “Seward already asked me if I would leave mine.”

Jack nodded, grabbing one book after another from his workspace and refiling them on the nearby shelf. He slipped his own book in among them, hidden in plain sight. If Lena hadn’t known just what she was looking for, she would never have found it again. His hand hovered over the book’s spine a moment, and Lena felt that same sadness from him that she had felt when she entered the room, sharper now.

She couldn’t stand it any longer. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Please. You’re upset about something. Was it something to do with that book?”

He sighed, still standing by the bookshelf like a child sent to the corner for misbehaving. “Part of it.”

“Was it me?” she asked.

“No,” he said. 

Lena gasped.  _ Lying. _ A white lie, meant to spare her from a painful truth, but still a lie, the first he’d ever told her. 

He knew what he’d done: she felt his guilt. He covered his mouth with one hand, shaking his head. “Yes,” he corrected. “But not just you. Lena, there’s something I’ve been keeping from you.” He took a deep breath, as though he were about to give a long speech, but he only said, “But I can’t tell you.”

She wanted to go to him, but she feared he would step away if she did. She forced herself to stay in her chair. “Jack, whatever it is, you don’t have to tell me now.”

He closed his eyes, still facing the shelf, like he couldn’t look her in the eye. “I’ve told you how highly I value our friendship. That hasn’t changed. But… But I can’t do it. I can’t pretend to be more than we are.”

Ah. She had known it would come to this. “The kiss?” she asked. 

He nodded. “I know what Orin said this morning. I’ve been thinking of it all day. Trying to convince myself I could make it work, but I can’t. I know I… I know I’m no good at expressing my feelings. I never had real friends before.” He turned, looking at her at last, eyes pleading. “Lena, please, what we already have has to be enough. I don’t have to pretend to care for you. You know I do. But I can’t give you more.” 

He was so desperate, so distraught. She thought she knew what he needed to hear to soothe his troubled mind. Surely, there was room within the Oath for that? And so she lied to him. “I don’t need more, Jack. Really. Your friendship is enough. More than enough.”

He nodded, looking at the floor. She could feel him gathering his emotions in, packing them down like tamping dirt into a hole. When he looked up again and said, “Alright,” she couldn’t feel anything from him anymore. He stepped past her toward the door. “We should probably head back.” 

_ I lied, _ she thought. She wanted to shout it after him.  _ Jack, I lied. I need more. I want more. _

When she didn’t follow, he looked over his shoulder at her, blue eyes expressionless. He held out his hand, and she took it, letting him lead her along, glad that he didn’t look back again as she tried to compose her features.

She wasn’t fully present as they bid Seward farewell. As they walked through the twilit streets, their guards clearing a path through the earliest revelers, she held to Jack’s arm, feeling nothing from him, letting the mood of the crowd take her, riding the waves of their mirth. It helped for a time, but then they crossed through the city’s west gate and walked the empty path toward Melmond Manor and she was left to deal with her own jumbled feelings again. Such a change from normal, how tonight she would rather have waded into a mob than to feel her own mind.

That was perhaps, back at the manor, what drew her attention to the parlor. Chad and Hector parted ways with them before they entered the house, but Clyne and Bentley walked with them, one in front and one behind, with Clyne leading them purposefully toward the stairs. As they approached the parlor, Lena could feel the giggling as surely as she heard it through the open door. She stopped to look inside, and Jack and the guards stopped with her, though she could feel Clyne’s annoyance at the sight of Ruby and her friends playing Over Onion Knight. 

_ He must have lost to Liza after all, _ she thought. 

“Miss Mateus!” one of the girls called, and Lena saw that it was Beatrix Hornwood. 

Ruby looked up. “Lena! Come play a hand with us!”

_ Happy, tipsy, vapid, vain, laughing. _ The room was a warm, pink cacophony of sensations that Lena knew would overwhelm her in a matter of minutes. She was awful at Onion Knight - she couldn’t bluff! - but she didn’t want to be alone in her room with her thoughts. “Thank you. I will,” she said. 

She looked up at Jack to bid him goodnight and found he was watching her. His eyes flicked toward the ladies at their cards and then back to her, and for a moment she felt an edge of terror from him. It was gone in an instant. There in the doorway, in full view of all of those ladies, he pulled her hand from his arm and he held it, softly running his thumb over the tops of her fingers. Then he reached up, pulling his scarf down just enough to expose his lips, and he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

It seemed to go on for quite some while. His eyes were on hers the whole time, unreadable, but she felt something. She couldn’t identify it, but she was sure it came from him. She focused on it, held to it, as he held her hand to his lips.

But then one of the ladies in the parlor giggled. Another scoffed. Someone muttered, “Well, I never!” which elicited more giggling. 

As if their chatter had broken some spell, Jack ended the kiss. He smiled slyly at her as he adjusted his scarf. “Goodnight, my lady,” he whispered.

_ Regret, _ she realized.  _ This feeling is regret. _ But as she watched him head up the stairs, the emotion she had felt from him remained, and she knew it was her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _6/2/17: Remember how last year I had to take the summer off from posting because I’m a librarian and the Summer Reading Program is kind of a big deal? I’m not doing that to you this year! :D Yet another benefit of only posting once a month! Here’s your (huge) June chapter and I have the (equally huge) July chapter ready to go! I may not have another chapter by the time August rolls around, but we’ll deal with that later. If the Summer Reading Program hasn’t killed me._   
>  _This month, I’d like to give a special shout-out to David, a talented artist, highly creative individual, and one of my biggest supporters on this project. He used to be my boss. One day, he happened to notice the files in my Google Drive labeled “Chapter 1”, “Chapter 2”, etc., and asked, “What’s this thing with 12 chapters in it?”_   
>  _I very shyly told him I was writing a silly, no-account piece of fanfiction and posting it online. Just, you know, in my spare time. Nothing serious. I mean, it’s fanfiction._   
>  _His response? “I’m going to need a link to that.” He’d never even played FF1. He expected my story to be terrible. He was just trying to be supportive._   
>  _Turns out, he liked it. I came into work the next day and he had chapter 5 open on his computer, ready to discuss, like we were in a book club or something. He’s been reading each chapter faithfully since then._   
>  _So here’s to you, David. I keep telling you you’re a white mage. You help keep this story alive._


	41. The Stage is Set

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: The Stage is Set from Final Fantasy VIII, on ominous-sounding song meant to put you all on edge. Mwahaha. Click[here](https://youtu.be/torEytKxkeI) for the original, and be content with that, because I didn’t like any of the remixes I found._

_Melmond Manor, Twenty-four Years Ago_

Fall eased into winter once more, and the Rot spread. Redden could see it from his window as morning gave way to afternoon, a line of devastation creeping across the landscape, relentless and inexorable. If he sent his senses through the aether, he could feel it. Gods, it might have been his imagination, but he almost thought he could feel it now, with only the senses granted to an ordinary man.

From the south fields where Bram’s spells had halted its progress, the Rot had swept north and west around the crescent-shaped island like a ponderous brush fire. East of the cape, where it met the sea, the local fishermen reported that the fish either fled or died. On land, nothing survived it; where the Rot set in, plants decayed into stinking slop and every living thing - even the insects - moved on. At the west boundary of Melmond Manor’s estates, it had come through under the high stone wall, breaking it in the middle. Huge, jagged pieces sank into the once-solid ground.   

Nothing could stop it. Not Redden, not his brother, not the faithful soldiers who journeyed back to the cave with them month after month as they strove to continue Bram’s work. And certainly not the useless white mages from Titan’s Cathedral. They’d been a string of failures; only a handful capable of even understanding the spell, none as powerful as Bram had been. Two had died attempting the ritual: one to a surprise attack by the undead that roamed the caves; the other, a man as old as Bram had been, of the toll the spell had taken on him.

They were down to apprentices now, the latest an arrogant coxcomb who thought he knew it all already. He’d shown up two hours late for his practice with Redden yesterday. Today, he was more than three hours behind schedule; Redden began to suspect he wouldn’t come at all.

At a timid knock, he called, “Enter,” but didn’t turn toward the door; he knew who it was, and she wouldn’t appreciate his gaze.

“My lord?” came Charis’s small voice as she stuck her head in. The new housemaid was shy around men, but otherwise diligent in her duties.

“Has Louis arrived?” he asked.

“No, my lord. That is, I don’t know anything about that, my lord. Lord Westen summons you.”

“Tell him I’m coming.”

The door clicked closed. He turned away from the window, fetching his jacket from the foot of the bed where he’d tossed it after breakfast. He checked himself in the mirror, used the water from the basin to slick back his unruly white hair. Cid’s still had some red to it, if less than before their monthly forays to the south cape had started, but Redden had given up on his own when the color faded with the summer, letting it grow longer, a shaggy mop that now hung past his ears.

He hurried down the hall but stopped at the top of the stairs. At the bottom, Cid stood with Jayne, murmuring softly into her ear, a tender moment Redden didn’t want to disturb. She’d been crying again, he saw before he turned away to give them more privacy. She often did when the full moon approached, knowing it signaled Cid’s return to that blasted cave. That depth of feeling was half the reason Westen had acquiesced when Cid asked for Jayne’s hand.

The other half was Cid himself. No one was more qualified to be the next Lord of Melmond. While Redden had focused on overseeing the ritual and coordinating with Titan’s Cathedral, it was Cid who had recruited, inspired, and led the men who cleared a path for him, fighting those accursed creatures. He’d proven himself again and again these past months.

Redden heard their muttered farewells, then Cid calling up to him, “Are you done skulking in the shadows?”

“I didn’t think you’d appreciate an interruption,” Redden said, coming down the stairs.

Cid smirked up at him, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Westen summon you too?”

Redden nodded. On the landing, Cid fell into step beside him as he turned to take the next flight down. “Have you and Jayne settled on a date yet?”

“Midsummer,” Cid said. “If there _is_ another Midsummer. How’d your meeting with the mage go this morning? What was his name? Lawrence?”

“Louis,” said Redden. “He didn’t show.”

“Titan’s teeth,” Cid cursed.

Redden shrugged. “I don’t like it either, but he does know the spell. I saw that yesterday.”

“Fine enough,” Cid said, shaking his head. “But if the idiot doesn’t learn how to take this seriously in the next three days, he’ll die in that cave. I’d rather leave him behind if he can’t follow orders.”

“We don’t have a choice, Cid. He’s the last one left in the cathedral.”

They walked in silence the rest of the way to Westen’s office.  A guard bid them wait in the hall. Redden could hear voices shouting inside - Westen’s and at least three others - cutting off abruptly as the guard announced their arrival. “My lord, the sons of Titan are here.”

“Send them in, man!” Westen shouted.

Redden cringed at his tone, but followed when Cid strode confidently into the room. Cid bowed low, and Redden copied the gesture. Cid said, “You sent for us, Lord Westen?”

It was then that Redden saw who was in the room: Melmond’s harbor masters, a trio of former captains, fearless men, hardened by long years at sea. They should not have appeared shaken, not for anything, and yet it was surely fear Redden saw in their eyes. “What’s happened?” he asked.

Westen’s mouth twisted in disgust. “The Rot has reached the city.”

“No,” said Cid. “It’s barely breached the estate’s walls! We’ve weeks left before it reaches the West Gate!”

“Not from the west,” one of the harbor masters said, terror edging his voice. “From the south.”

“It’s come up from the water,” said another.

“The docks are sinking,” Westen said.

* * *

_The Earth Cave, Present Day_

From the top of the hill overlooking the old mine, Redden watched the weak light of an overcast sunrise spilling over the cave. Leo crouched beside him, a contemplative lad but a scrappy one, all lean muscle over sinew and bone. “It almost seems worse by daylight,” the young pirate said. “Like the light out here only makes it seem darker in there.”

“In there is as dark as it gets,” Redden said.

He hadn’t been prepared for the feeling like a punch to the gut when he laid eyes on the cave again. They’d reached it after sundown, their day’s march from Melmond prolonged by the extent of the Rot - worse even than it had been at its peak more than twenty years ago - and the sight of that gaping black maw under the moonlight had chilled him, a primal fear that he had thought he had outgrown.

“Do you see, my lord? All quiet,” the lead soldier had said, a West Hills man by the name of Killian. “Lord Leiden really has been keeping an eye on it, as I said. We’ve all of us been to check it many times.” There was nothing condescending in his tone, only respectful reassurances, as there had been throughout their journey south. Even as Redden had been sicking up from the press of the Rot, Killian and the other men had been quick to tell him all would be well. Killian addressed the others, saying, “Light the torches. We’ll make camp in the first cavern.”

“No,” Redden had said. “We camp out here.”

They’d looked at him like he’d grown a second head, but they obeyed. He was sure they’d laughed at him when he insisted they set watches through the night.

They weren’t laughing this morning. He turned back to the camp where they were tending to the injured. Redden had done his best to Cure the worst of them, but he was no white mage. They would bear scars for the rest of their lives, but they lived. Killian sat with his head in his hands. He looked up at Redden’s approach, and his face was ashen. “I swear, Lord Carmine, I’ve been here dozens of times! We’ve never seen anything like this here before!”

“Leiden has,” Redden spat. “He knew this was a possibility. He let this happen.”

He heard Gus come up the hill behind him, heavy boots tromping through grass made brittle by the heat. Over his shoulder, the big pirate carried a warhammer that made Lena’s white mage weapon look like a child’s toy. Two of the Melmond men walked with him, faces grim but determined. “I think that’s the last of them,” Gus rumbled.

“Did you crush the heads?” said Redden.

Gus nodded. “I saw to it.”

“Alright,” Redden said. “Let’s go in.”

A hush fell over Leiden’s men. They were all looking at him. Killian sputtered, “You can’t be serious, my lord! The seals are broken! We have to go back and report this to Lord Leiden!”

Redden shook his head. “The first seal is still there. I can feel it. I’m not going back until I’ve checked the others.”

Leo cocked his head. “But you said the dead couldn’t pass the seals.”

“They can’t,” said Redden. “And yet they were here.” _How?_ he wondered. He had believed all these years that the force that created the undead was bound to the cave; had he been wrong? “I won’t order you men to come with me; this is nothing you were prepared for. But I ask you, if you’re brave enough, will you follow me?”

The guards looked at each other, at the ground, at the remains of the campfire - at anything but him - too cowardly to meet his eyes.

Redden sighed. _They would have followed Cid,_ he thought. _Cid would have known what to say._ When he turned and began to walk down the hill, only Gus and Leo walked with him. “Are you sure?” he asked them. “You saw what we faced last night. There could be worse inside.”

Leo shrugged. He wasn’t much older than Kane, but he reminded Redden of Orin, the way he faced every situation with calm patience as if he had seen it all before. “You said it yourself, Redden: the dead are already out here. We might as well go in.”

“Thank you,” he said. He heard a commotion from the hill, and looking up he saw Killian and a few of the other men coming down, torches in hand. Not all of the men, but more than he had expected. “Thank you all.”

Gus lifted the pendant he wore - Leviathan’s mark - to his lips and kissed it. “If you’d seen what I’ve seen at sea, you wouldn’t fear anything buried in the earth.”

Redden chuckled bitterly. “That rather goes both ways.”

“Mayhaps,” said Gus. “But I’m with you all the same.”

Redden nodded, more grateful than a simple “thank you” could convey. With one hand, he accepted the torch Killian offered him. With the other, he drew his sword. Their footsteps echoed back at him as they stepped inside, into darkness, but he could still hear Gus’s muttered prayers: _Sweet Leviathan, be with me now._

He remembered, with a pang of sorrow, visiting Titan’s Cathedral as a child, kneeling at the altar with his brother beside him, reciting prayers of his own, and though he hadn’t prayed in years, the beginning of Titan’s prayer came back to him: _Titan shield me. Guide my steps._  

He couldn’t remember the rest.

* * *

Thad watched the dragon with some interest. It wasn’t how he’d imagined a dragon would be: barely taller than a man, a sickly green color, with thin, drooping whiskers even a kitten would have been ashamed of. It was, however, as long as three men put together, and that was nice. The stories always said ten, but a puppet that size would have required a storage trunk as big as an ox when it wasn’t being paraded beneath cloudy skies down Farplane Avenue.

It only had one head, but Thad let that slide: this wasn’t a professional act, but rather an amateur production put on by the merchants’ guild. The two men inside the contraption - half puppet, half costume - slithered it into the square, moving its mouth and eyes with some hidden mechanism as it spurted flames of red cloth over actors in tin armor. The play soldiers screamed unconvincingly as they writhed in the street.

“Face me, foul beast, and know your equal!” called the actor who was supposed to be Ffamran. He wore a gleaming mail shirt that might have been real but had certainly never seen battle. His sword, Thad suspected, was made of mirrored glass; it flashed as he waved it. The women in the audience sighed.  

“You’ve got to be joking,” Thad muttered. Real warriors didn’t talk like that when they were fighting, did they? Kane didn’t talk like that. Still, the audience seemed to approve: the women watched the hero adoringly, the men cheered each strike of his sword.

Plays were traditional at Midsummer in Melmond, Orin had said. People were putting them on all over town, with performances ranging in scope from children in their parents’ clothes acting out bedtime stories to career actors in a famous theater in the Blue Quarter. This street performance was somewhere in the middle. The merchants’ guild could afford costumes and props, but the lead roles apparently went to whoever volunteered and looked the part regardless of their acting abilities. According to the announcer who spoke before the play started, Ffamran was played by the son of a weaver, while the dragon - half of it anyway - was some sort of armorer.  

Thad had never liked theater. Lena had invited him to come along while she and the others went to the big theater today but he had turned her down, thinking Orin had better plans for him. Yet, here he was, stuck at a play anyway. Even the coordinated efforts of the two men working the dragon were not interesting enough to overcome what looked to Thad to be a fake and unnatural fight. He barely knew anything about swords, but even he saw the way the lead actor’s exaggerated movements left him open to attack. A boy Thad’s age, standing beside him and eating salt crackers by the handful, spit crumbs as he called, “Get ‘im, Ffamran!”

“Ffamran’s dragon was a girl,” Thad grumbled. The other boy only laughed, as he had when Thad had earlier pointed out that Ffamran was supposed to be a paladin, skilled in white magic. Thad had read the story to Aryon back in Elfheim, he knew how it was meant to go, but this cracker-munching urchin didn’t seem to care about the play’s inaccuracies.

The battle went on, but Thad stopped paying attention, focusing instead on the man Orin had set him to watch. Vince Pollendina, the lord secretary of Melmond, sat beneath a shade tent in front of his tavern, lazily applauding the production. The tent seemed unnecessary on such a cloudy day, the oppressive humidity merely hinting at the possibility of rain while making the heat that much worse. Pollendina looked too thin to Thad: a thin man with a thin smile behind a thin, dark goatee. He was attended by a girl Thad recognized from the Chubby Chocobo, who occasionally ran into the bar to refill her master’s drink. Other of his employees roamed the crowd with bottles of booze; for a gil, they would pour a shot for anyone who had their own cup. The play - which was in Pollendina’s honor, the announcer had said, to thank him for funding the Midsummer celebrations on Farplane Avenue - would be followed by dancing later; Pollendina would preside over that as well.

In short, he was not the sort of target that required the dedicated attention of any kind of spy, not today. Thad sighed. It was possible Orin hadn’t known, but Thad doubted that: the monk always seemed to know more than he should have and certainly more than he let on. No, the old man had brushed him off, he was sure of it. The question was why. They’d spent the previous day following Bayard to a number of dirty dives, listening to his conversations. Thad had thought he was doing well: he was sneaky, he followed instructions, he knew how to be quiet. Even though Orin insisted that spying was not the same as thieving, Thad thought otherwise. Weren’t they “stealing” information?   

He thought over all the things he’d heard, trying to sort out what might have prompted Orin to head off without him, but they hadn’t learned anything, nothing that wasn’t common knowledge. People talked about the white mages, blaming them for the Rot in the countryside. Of course, they blamed the Rot for what they called the “night plague”, the thing that killed the white mages. It apparently ran rampant through the outer farms, setting in while people were asleep. No one knew how it spread: even isolated farms weren’t safe. Sometimes it took whole households, sometimes only one or two people, causing sores on the neck and arms and extreme weakness that lasted a few days. Aside from whatever had happened with the white mages, only the very old or very young ever died of it; other people generally recovered. The key, people said, was to live through the second night.

The play came to its dramatic but expected end at last, the dragon slain. The actors bowed to enthusiastic applause, accepting praise and handshakes from their peers as they left. A few guild members began to call orders to a group of workmen who had watched the play from nearby. The workmen brought plank benches from within one of the shops off of the square and arranged them in rows facing Pollendina’s pavilion. The secretary didn’t stir, but the crowd began to thin out as people drifted away.

Thad frowned. He tugged the sleeve of a well-dressed man who stood nearby, chatting with another man in a tailored coat. Their clothes were of fine cut but common cloth. _Merchants?_ Thad guessed. “Excuse me, sir,” he said. “Where is everyone going? I thought there was going to be dancing?”

“That’s not ‘til later!” said the man, chuckling. “Guild’s got to vote on next year’s officers first.”

Thad’s spirits lifted. “Oh? That sounds important!” Maybe this was what Orin had intended him to see? Lords and kings were all well and good, but Thad knew it was the big guilds that really ran cities. Back home, Mayor Gordon ran Pravoka, but it was the Captains’ Council that ran Mayor Gordon, though she would box Thad’s ears if she ever heard him say such a thing.

The two men laughed. “Aye, they like to think so,” the second man said. “You’re welcome to stay if you like. The proceedings are open to the public.”

“As if anyone would!” the first man said. “There’s no surer way to die of acute boredom than a guild election. Why don’t you run along to High Street? I hear the Ladies’ Charitable League is running some sort of games for the children today.”

Thad shook his head. “My master told me to wait here for him.”

“Suit yourself, lad. Try not to melt in this heat,” the man said, smiling and tipping his hat before he and his friend left.

Thad watched them go, then looked back at the remains of the crowd. There were probably a hundred people assembling for the meeting, men and women. Some had their children with them; all of the children, without exception, looked miserable. Many were settling in for a nap. _Can you really die of boredom?_ Thad thought. Where was Orin?

“Order!” the announcer from the play called. “Let us have order!”

Somewhere in the crowd, a child whimpered. A mother said, “Hush, darling. It’s only a few hours.”

 _Hours?_ Thad groaned. He should have gone with the others. Surely, even the theater was better than this.

* * *

Kane was surprised to find that the Saucer, the famous theater in the Blue Quarter, wasn’t actually _in_ the Blue Quarter, but was instead just outside of it, on the edge of the lower town. That had surprised him as well, the way one moment their armed escort of four guards led them past colorful mansions and expensive shops and suddenly, only one street over, they walked among shacks and lean-tos and decrepit townhouses with broken windows. The theater was the only place in sight that seemed structurally sound, a massive building, three stories high but as wide as Cornelia’s castle yard. It wouldn’t have fit in the Blue Quarter, clearly. Kane wondered how many of those crumbling townhouses had been demolished to make room for it, how many families might have lived in them.

He looked up as they approached it, taking in the architectural details, but the movement caused the scarf he was wearing to come loose again. The others - Harvey, Ruby, Gabriel, and Lena - were all wearing festival masks, but Kane had opted for a scarf, not wanting Jack to feel singled out. Jack had lent him the blue one, the one Sarah had given him; Kane couldn’t help but think of her as he straightened the cloth, a situation made worse by how many times he’d had to straighten the damned thing already.

He growled in frustration as he tried to get it right. “Gods! How do you stand these things all day?” he asked Jack over the top of Lena’s head. Ruby had chosen their outfits for them again, with a black jacket and new green scarf for Jack and a green silk dress for Lena. The white mage held to Jack’s arm, and despite the guards - two ahead, and two behind - Kane felt better for keeping her between them, where they could more easily protect her from whatever the lower town might have to offer.

Jack cast him a slant-eyed look. “Easily. I simply remind myself I have no alternative.”

“Ah,” Kane said, at a loss for a better response. “Of course. Sorry.”

Harvey, walking slightly ahead of them with the leading guards, chuckled at the exchange. “Stepped right into that one, didn’t you, Kane?” He looked back at them, and his smile wavered. “Are you alright there, longshanks? You seem out of sorts today. Gray skies got you down?”

“I slept poorly,” Jack said, voice rough enough that Kane winced. He’d left Jack to the floor last night, taking the huge bed for himself. Kane had slept well, a night full of pleasant and silly dreams he couldn’t remember now. When he woke that morning, he’d found Jack sitting in the corner, knees tucked up, shivering violently. A nightmare, the mage had said, but Kane had seen the frost forming on his clothes before he settled himself. Jack’s hold on the aether was slipping.

“He doesn’t like crowds,” Lena said in a dreamy voice, startling Kane, as he hadn’t thought the white mage was paying attention to their conversation. “Neither of us likes crowds.” She went back to staring vacantly at the press of people in the street.

Jack wasn’t the only one who seemed out of sorts. Neither Ruby nor Lena were themselves. When Kane had come in last night, he’d found the two girls still up, drinking sweet wine and playing cards though their other guests had long since parted. Harvey and Gabriel bundled Ruby off to bed. Lena, though… Kane couldn’t decide if she was truly drunk or simply reflecting Ruby’s giddy mood. She’d seemed to sober up as he escorted her to her room. Today, she seemed distracted. All morning, he found he had to speak to her more than once to get her attention. _She’s different around different people,_ he thought. But there were so many people in Melmond.

“Well, you’re in luck there!” Harvey went on. “We’ve a private box in the balcony. Limited seating, only us and a few friends. How does that sound?” Quincey grumbled at that, as two of his three brothers were among Harvey’s friends; the young Leiden had extended an invitation to them over tea the day before.

“Capital,” said Jack, absently patting Lena’s hand.

“Anything sounds better than yesterday,” Kane said. He hadn’t asked Jack how his day with Lord Unne had gone, but his own had been one dull introduction after another. He’d politely accepted so many cups of tea he’d thought his stomach would burst. He was sure his bladder nearly had. Their evening had ended with Quincey taking them around to his commanding officer’s house, where the commander and his wife had served them their first decent meal of the day, rather than tea cakes and finger foods.

Harvey barked out a laugh. “Ha! Yes! And unlike with social calls, if you don’t like the play, we can always prop you in the corner for a nap.”

Behind them, Ruby groused, “Oh, don’t be such a pessimist, Harvey! It’s supposed to be a wonderful play this year! Isn’t that right, Gabriel? That’s what you said?” Kane forced his eyes to remain forward. Grumpy and short-tempered from being more than a little hungover, Ruby was looking more like her cousin than ever today. Not that Kane had ever seen Sarah hungover, but he couldn’t recall ever seeing Ruby as less than unflaggingly cheerful.

The sergeant, who walked with Ruby on his arm, sighed. “I said nothing of the sort. For the last time, Ruby, you can’t trick me into revealing something I don’t know.”

Ruby made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. “But we all know Diana is playing the lead this year! Surely she’s told you something?”

“Diana? You mean the commander’s daughter? The one he was talking about last night?” Kane asked  looking back at Quincey, trying to ignore the jolt that the sight of Ruby’s blond hair sent up his spine, the feeling that if he reached back and plucked that mask off her face, he’d find his princess underneath.

It was Harvey who answered. “Yes, she’s the one! And look! They’ve done a poster of her!” They were nearly to the doors now, jostled by the crush of people filing inside. The poster in question was pasted to a wall already replete with posters, layer upon layer like a bizarre, colorful wallpaper.

The young woman in the picture bore little resemblance to the woman Kane had met the night before, the commander’s wife, who wore bright red lipstick on a face of hard angles that would not have been pretty had she not smiled so joyfully. That smile made it easy to see why, according to Quincey, more than half the Melmond guard corps was infatuated with her. Though the poster showed that her daughter looked nothing like her, with a delicate, heart-shaped face, and a pert nose, she did have that same smile.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” said Harvey. “I keep wondering when Gabriel will make his move!”

The sergeant rolled his eyes. “I only know her through her father! She certainly doesn’t know me well enough that she would blab to me about this year’s secret play.”

“Yes, but you can’t honestly think her father keeps inviting you around just because he enjoys your company?” said Harvey. “He likes you for her!” One of the rear guards chuckled.

The conversation was put on hold as they made it inside. Harvey produced their tickets and an usher escorted them to a set of stairs that led to a row of curtained doorways, all numbered. Some of the curtains were open, revealing the private boxes Harvey had described, little balcony rooms perhaps five strides across, each with ten chairs. When they reached their box, the guards checked inside and then, apparently finding nothing objectionable within, took up positions in the hall.

The box was already occupied. Logan Quincey, the second oldest of the Quincey brothers, sat at the opposite end of the box from two girls in bright dresses, his attempts at conversation hampered both by the space between them and by the taller girl’s refusal to turn and face him. Kane vaguely recognized the girls from Leiden’s dinner party two nights ago; the Hornwoods, if he remembered correctly. Ruby’s mood improved when she saw them. “Oh, good! You made it! Did you learn anything from that servant of yours?” she said, untying her mask as she spoke to the shorter of the two young women.

“A little,” the girl said, twirling her own feathered mask by its strings. “The word is that they’ve brought back one of their retired plays!”

“How exciting!” Ruby said. “Do you know which one? Is it one we’ve seen?”

The girl shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s all I know.” She smiled up at Kane and reached out to shake his hand. “Kane, yes? Nicole Hornwood. How do you do? And this is my sister Beatrix.”

He extended a hand to the other sister, but she only smiled sweetly at him without taking it. “We’ve met,” she said. Kane thought she must be mistaken, but let it go.

“Has Victor arrived yet?” said Harvey. “I invited him as well.”

“Victor won’t be coming,” Logan said. “When he heard the rumor that it was a repeat performance he declared it a waste of time.”

Ruby made an unladylike snort. “Well, I disagree! I often see the same play several times each season! I’m always sad when they retire them!” She seemed to quiver with excitement. “Oh, I wonder which play it is!”

Beatrix shrugged. “I’m hoping it’s _Parrish._ You remember? It had that ghost of the murdered father and the sword fight at the end.”

Nicole shook her head. “No, we know Diana is playing the lead! It has to be one of the romances.”  

“Maybe it’s _Henry and Evangeline_?” said Ruby. “The one with the star-crossed lovers?”

The girls continued to chat as everyone took their seats, all except Lena, who stood at the balcony railing and looked at the people below where there was standing room only. Her eyes darted about as if she were trying to take in every detail of the entire crowd. Could she feel all of those people down there? Kane whispered to Jack, “I’ve never seen her like this before.”

“Hmm?” The black mage had been sitting with his eyes closed, clearly distracted by his own problems, but he did look over at Lena and his brows drew together in a concerned expression. “The emotions build up, she said. I know water usually helps. She was fine when we were at sea.” Jack went to her and said something in her ear. She let him guide her to the seat between his and Ruby’s, barely responding when he reached up to undo the ties of her mask.

 _She swims,_ Kane thought, remembering an episode back in Cornelia when he’d heard Lena beg Orin to get her out of the castle to visit a cove on the far side of the harbor. She’d been in trouble for that later, he knew. He’d wondered at the time why she would do such a thing but had forgotten about it after all that happened in the days that followed. He turned to Harvey on his other side. “Say, is there a good place to swim around here?”

“Swimming? I shouldn’t think so. You’ve heard of crocodiles, haven’t you? They’re a bit of a problem in these parts.”

“Look! It’s starting!” said Ruby.

A hush fell over the crowd as a man in a suit walked out to the center of the stage. “My lords, my ladies, honored guests! I welcome you all to this afternoon’s performance. Though it has long been Midsummer tradition to unveil new plays during the festival, this year, the Lords’ Council Company has chosen another path: an old tale, made new again!” The man waited for the light applause to die down. “A tale of the Melmond civil war…”

From the corner of his eye, Kane saw Gabriel sit up straighter. “They wouldn’t…”

The audience murmured, but the man on the stage talked loudly over them. “Of forbidden love in that war-torn land!”

“They would,” Logan rumbled.

Ruby gasped. “I can’t believe it!”

The man on the stage went on, yelling now over the rising noise of the crowd. “A love that heals hearts and conquers hate!”

“They’re angry,” Lena said, looking over the railing again. “Why are they so angry?”

“No, no, no…” Gabriel muttered. “Please, Titan, I don’t want to put down a riot today.”

“Calm down!” Harvey said. “They couldn’t be fool enough to stage _Odelia_ given how everyone feels about white mages! It has to be some other play!”

The man on the stage raised his hands for silence. “Good people, I present to you the tale of _Bertrand and Odelia_!”

“Shit,” said Gabriel.

* * *

When the meeting finally ended, mind-numbing hours of bylaws and points of order later, and Pollendina went back to his office in the Chubby Chocobo, Thad didn’t bother to follow him. Instead, he walked, looked in the shop windows, watched the preparations for the dancing. After the workmen cleared the benches, he found a rubber ball, likely left behind by one of the merchants’ children, and he wandered the square bouncing and catching it. He called up the aether sight and watched the way the aether responded to people, trying to see the auras Jack had been telling him about in his lesson the night before. He wasn’t successful, but Jack had said it would take practice.

Perhaps he was getting somewhere with it though, because he knew, even without looking, when Orin arrived. Thad had wandered into an alley, bouncing the ball against a stone-walled accounting office that was closed for the revels. He didn’t bother to turn around when the old man approached him from behind. “So now you want my company?” he asked. “Are you sure you don’t have some other important things to do?”

Orin chuckled. “I do have other tasks, but the most important one is, of course, to continue your training. Come, we have places to see.”

He turned to give the old man a piece of his mind, but Orin was already walking, slowly, away. “Wait!” Thad said. “You’re limping!” He hurried after him, moving in close so the monk could lean on him.

Orin grasped Thad’s shoulder with one bony hand; there was steel in his grip. “Yes, young Shipman, but your observational skills need work. I have been limping for several days.”

“No!” Thad said. “You were faking it before!”

“I am faking it still. Hush now. Your whining draws attention.”

Thad started to argue, but he saw that the old man wasn’t lying about that at least: people were looking curiously at them. He closed his mouth, but he could feel how heavily Orin leaned on him, more heavily than he had done these past few days.

From the business district, they passed through a wealthy residential area full of huge houses in disgusting colors. The wealthy houses gave way eventually to poorer ones, smaller and shabby with a lack of maintenance. From there, they came to a second business district, more dubious than the first, with fewer accounting offices and more dark storefronts, their windows filled with questionable objects. There were more guards here. Thad knew from studying the city map that the guardhouse was nearby. He had to remind himself that he had no reason to feel nervous around them. Despite all the petty thievery he’d committed in his short life, he had done nothing wrong here. Well, not today. At least, not so far.

His instinct to hurry through the area was hampered by Orin’s slow shuffle. “If you’re supposed to be faking, do you really have to lean so hard?” he asked.

“It must appear convincing,” Orin replied. “But if you doubt your ability to perform your own role, you can go and play with your new ball. I could find a walking stick...”

“I didn’t say that!” Thad said a little too loudly. A guard looked over at them from across the street, walking in the opposite direction. Thad threw him a smile that he hoped didn’t look guilty. The guard turned and began to walk toward them. “Crap baskets!” Thad said.

“Is that really the sort of thing a Warrior of Light should say?” Orin asked.

“Who cares? Walk faster!”

“I will not,” said Orin. “We have nothing to hide.”

“But, Orin!”

“Hush,” the monk said, giving Thad’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I would not let anything bad happen to you, young master Shipman. Now, keep quiet. Watch and listen.”   

The guard was on them in a few strides, smiling politely. “Good afternoon,” he said, his tone respectful. “You seem lost, grandfather. Something I can help you find?”

“I believe I know our way, young man, but I thank you for asking,” said Orin.

“I haven’t seen you around before. Master…?”

“Sylkis,” Orin said, supplying the man with the same fake name he had given the registrar at the docks. “We are only visitors, for the revels. We could show you our papers if you wish.”

Thad would have run if not for Orin’s grip on him - he hadn’t given his papers a moment’s thought since their first day in Melmond and didn’t know where his had got off to - but the guard shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. What brings you to the lower town, master Sylkis?”    

“We wished to see Titan’s Cathedral.”

A shadow passed over the guard’s face, there and gone again in an instant. “I thought that might be the case when I saw your leg there. I’m sorry to tell you, but the cathedral’s closed.”

Orin shrugged. “So we had heard. We only wish to see it. We have heard it is a marvel of Melmond design.”

“No different from the Lords’ Council chambers on High Street. I could direct you there?”

“Such a helpful man!” Orin said, smiling so that his face wrinkled up. “A true credit to your profession, but as we have come so far already, I believe we shall continue on.”

“Are you certain?” said the guard. “The streets are in terrible shape over there. A lot of mud. I would hate to see you strain yourself.”

“Never fear. My young apprentice will see me safely there.”

The guard looked at Thad with one eyebrow raised then slowly turned his gaze back to Orin. “Master Sylkis, I wouldn’t want to frighten guests to our fair city, but I would be remiss were I not to inform you that the neighborhood around the cathedral is… not the best.”

“Oh?” said Orin. “Are there thieves? Miscreants? Are we likely to be set upon in broad daylight?”

“No.” The guard’s face remained blank. It wasn’t natural, Thad thought, but a carefully held blankness, as if the man had practiced for hours in front of a mirror to achieve it. “Nothing like that. There are rumors, that’s all. No one knows what really happened to the mages there, you know. Some of that white magic may still be around.”

“White magic?” said Thad. Orin pulled at his shoulder, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Why would anyone be afraid of white magic?”

The guard stared at Thad as if he’d just belched at the dinner table.

“My apprentice has much to learn,” said Orin, pulling Thad behind him. To the guard, he said, “Young man, I have heard these rumors you speak of, and while I appreciate your concern, I believe I will rest easier when I see for myself that the cathedral is empty, if you understand my meaning.”

The guard nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Do not let us keep you from your duties,” Orin said. He motioned Thad forward, leaning on him once again, and as they began to walk away, the guard turned back toward his original course.

Thad looked over his shoulder, and when he was certain the man was out of earshot, he asked, “What was that about? You made it sound like you don’t like white magic! And he was scared of it! Why was he scared?”

Orin shook his head. “White magic can do evil things. They are very rare, and rarely spoken of. Perhaps I am not the best one to explain such matters.”

Thad thought back on everything he’d read in his copy of the Adept’s Grimoire, everything Lena had told him about her abilities. As far as Thad understood it, the sort of people who were able to learn white magic with any skill were incapable of evil, plain and simple. “But how? What sort of things? It shouldn’t work! White magic comes from love, doesn’t it? Everyone says that!”

The monk gave an exasperated sigh. “Young master Shipman, when you are older you will come to understand, as I do, that the greatest evils are often those that spring from the purest of intentions.”

* * *

It started with a sword fight. A very impressive sword fight, in Kane’s opinion. The actor playing the hero, Bertrand, almost made it look real as he fought against three rebel soldiers. The murmurs of the crowd died down as the scene went on. The fight ended with Bertrand, a roaming swordsman, rescuing the rebels’ victim, the beautiful Odelia, a lady of the royal court, whom they had planned to hold for ransom.

“My husband leads the king’s armies,” she said. “He would be pleased to have a man of your skill.”

“Then I shall see you safely home, my lady, and perhaps find further work there,” Bertrand said, setting the audience to whispering again as the stagehands changed the scenery.

Up in the box beside Kane, the Quincey brothers were having a whispered conversation of their own. The sergeant looked angry, gesturing with his hands, while Logan only shook his head.

“What is it?” Kane asked. “What’s wrong?”

Harvey said, “She was supposed to be a white mage. Originally, the rebels took her because she wore white mage’s robes. They needed mages and she couldn’t fight back. There was no ransom; they didn’t know who she was. The players have changed it.”

“Cowards!” Gabriel spat.

“I would have thought you’d be pleased?” Kane said. “You were worried about rioting a moment ago.”

“It’s one thing not to do any plays with mage characters! It’s another thing to write them out as if they never existed!”

“It’s entirely understandable,” Logan said. “They can’t show themselves to be pro-mage in this political climate.”

“But they were! They were the last pro-mage faction that held any sway with the Council!” Gabriel was so angry he was shaking. “Damn it! Half their plays have magic or mages in them!”

“Apparently not anymore,” said Logan.

* * *

It hadn’t been much farther to Titan’s Cathedral, which was convenient since Thad didn’t think he could have dragged Orin along another step. Thad had expected a decrepit, dilapidated building, perhaps with the windows boarded up, but he found instead a grand compound of gleaming white stone. It was shaped like White Hall in Cornelia, with the large chapel area on one side, and the white mages’ apartments on the other. From what Lena had told him of her life in White Hall, Thad assumed there would be other rooms there: mages’ workshops, classrooms, perhaps a library. The top of a tree was visible over the roof, as if it were growing in the middle of the building, like at the tavern he had visited in Elfheim.

As they drew closer, Thad could see that the walls were stained here and there with mortar over old cracks. “That is where the Rot damaged it many years ago,” Orin said. “Most of the buildings in the lower town were lost. They were predominantly wood. Everything in this area had to be rebuilt.”

Thad looked up and down the street, a sad showing of wooden shacks and crumbling plaster houses that looked like they needed rebuilding still. Aside from a small crowd milling about the chapel steps, a thin but steady stream of people came and went through its large, open doors. The people on the steps watched Thad and Orin approach, and Thad recognized one of the Avenue Inspectors from the Chocobo bar, though he was out of uniform today. The man came down the steps to meet them.

“Inspector Lamontagne,” Orin said, inclining his head respectfully.

“Lord Orin,” the old guard said. “Chief Inspector Turley said you were investigating the dark mage attacks. What brings you this way?”

Orin smiled a smile that made him look like a harmless old man but which Thad had grown to consider highly suspicious. “Why, those same investigations.”

Lamontagne’s answering smile seemed confused. “Oh? How so? There have been no dark mage attacks near the cathedral.”

“Exactly,” said the monk, pressing a finger to the side of his nose in a conspiratorial gesture. “That is curious, yes?” He gestured to the small crowd on the stairs. “I was told the cathedral was closed.”

“It’s closed for healing, as all the white mages are gone, but we still open the chapel for worshippers. You’re just in time for a prayer meeting if you’d care to join us.”

Thad couldn’t think of anything he would care for less. His grandmother had often taken him to such meetings back home and they were all the same: hymns, then prayers, then more hymns, boring sermons, more prayers, and sometimes more hymns. He felt he could do without sitting through another one ever again for the rest of his life. He was relieved when Orin said, “I thank you for the invitation,” for it sounded like he meant to refuse, but then the old man went on to say, “That would be lovely.”

“But I don’t want-” Thad began, but he stopped when Orin pinched his ear, hard. It was more surprising than painful: the monk had never done such a thing before.

“Let us not be rude to the nice inspector, Thadius,” Orin said. When the inspector looked between them with questioning eyes, he added, “Forgive my apprentice. He was raised Levitian. It would be good for him to see another religion’s ways.”

“Of course.” Lamontagne nodded. To Thad, he said, “You’ll find we’re not so different from what you’re used to, young man. But if you’d prefer to worship in your own way, there is a chapel to Leviathan in the harbor district. I don’t know if they have regular meetings; it’s mostly used by passing sailors. Remind me to draw you a map.” A bell rang from within the compound. “Well, shall we?” the inspector said, motioning them inside.

* * *

Kane sat forward in his chair, lost in the play. He’d seen festival plays before, but this was something else. These Council players were so skilled, Kane kept forgetting he was watching events on a stage. He hadn’t even known Melmond had had a civil war. Surely his tutors had mentioned it, but he’d been a terrible student. History had always seemed so far removed from what he could see, what he could touch, that he’d never paid attention. Here was history brought to life.

“He means to make war against the rebels,” Odelia said of her husband, General Doma. The conflict between Old Melmond on Half-Moon Mountain and the smaller coastal city of New Melmond had come to a head. The “city by the sea”, the city Kane and his friends were currently sitting in, had begun to fight back against overtaxation.

Bertrand had his back to her, pouring himself a drink at the table. “The rebels made this war themselves, when they cut off supplies from the harbor.”

“But they were in the right!” Odelia said, grabbing his arm. “I believe that now! Please! Is there anything you can do to sway him from this course?”

“You know as well as I that your husband is the king’s creature,” Bertrand said, throwing back the shot he’d poured and slamming the glass down.

“But if it comes to war…” Even from his seat in the balcony, Kane could see the actress’s lip tremble. “I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.”

Bertrand turned to face her. They stood so close, it was practically an embrace. “Run away with me,” he begged. “You love me, Odelia - I know it! Come with me. I’ve made my living with my sword until now; I can do it again. I have nothing to offer you but my heart. Please, Odelia, come with me.”

“I can’t,” she said, stepping back. “However I may feel about you… I still love my husband.”

The audience gasped. They’d seen what the general had done to the rebel prisoners in Act Two, something Odelia was not aware of. Doma would do anything in the name of his lord, following the letter of the law no matter who it hurt to keep the old court in power. He was not a good man. Kane let out a slow breath.

“Right?” Harvey whispered. “Now just imagine how that line goes over when a white mage says it.”

Kane did imagine it. He was so busy imagining it, in fact, that he missed Bertrand’s next line.

Odelia declared, “We can’t choose who we love!”

“No,” said Bertrand. “But we can choose where we stand. I’ll not stay and fight for an unjust cause.” He stormed off stage.

The curtain fell, signalling the end of another act. The shuffling of stagehands changing sets could just be heard over the audience’s quiet mutterings. Kane heard sniffling to his left. He leaned forward to look past Jack, over at the girls. He couldn’t make out the Hornwood sisters’ expressions in the dark box, but Ruby was crying into a handkerchief. Lena covered her mouth with one hand, and her shoulders shook as she cried in her quiet way.

Even Jack had tears in his eyes, though it was not the tears that Kane noticed first. It was the way they glittered in the light of a faint white corona. Kane pinched the mage sharply in the thigh.

He jumped, hissing, “Ramuh’s beard!”

“Your eyes,” Kane whispered.

Jack must have caught his meaning. He blinked several times, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. In his lap, his hand made a gesture Kane recognized as the sign of the staff.

On Kane’s other side, Harvey said, “You know, I’m surprised how little the play has changed. The plot is almost entirely unaffected by whether Odelia is a white mage or not. It almost makes you wonder why they wrote her as one to begin with…”

Gabriel’s face went ashen. “Gods above and below,” he muttered. He looked to his brother.

Logan nodded. “I know,” he said. “It occurred to me already. The only place in the plot where it really matters is the ending.”

The curtain rose. Another act began.

* * *

They sat with the other worshipers in the unpadded pews, hard seats, with the back at an awkward angle, too steep for sitting but not steep enough to recline comfortably. As Thad’s feet didn’t touch the floor when he sat in them, his only real option was to sit rigidly upright. There would be no napping through this meeting. Not that anyone else looked to be in a napping mood, the few whose faith overcame their fear of white mages and the mysterious disease that had killed them. Perhaps less than two dozen people gathered in the large chapel, a space that could have held hundreds. He and Orin sat near a window in one of the center pews, and they had the whole row to themselves.

Thad was surprised when Lamontagne himself went up to the altar to lead the service. _Right, there are no white mages. There are no priests,_ he thought. The inspector cleared his throat and began to sing in a strong, tenor voice. The rest of the congregation joined in, a song Thad had never heard before about the “rock” of faith. He assumed it was a metaphor; Titan was an earth god, after all. It went on for several verses.

 _And now the prayers,_ Thad thought.

Right on cue, Lamontagne bowed his head. The other worshipers did likewise. The inspector prayed, “Titan shield me. Guide my steps. Be my strength when I must stand for those who cannot.”

Thad sighed. He hated being right sometimes.

His gaze drifted to the window. There was a square garden in the center of the compound, arrayed around a tree in the middle, the same tree Thad had seen from the outside. The garden was laid out in a pattern with walkways along the four points of a compass, dividing it in quarters, squares within squares, each corner containing different plants. Someone was sneaking around out there, darting between the bushes. A short person, Thad noticed as he watched more closely, carrying a basket in one hand. He realized this was the boy from before at the play, the one with the crackers.   

The prayer went on. And on. Thad quickly surveyed the people in the chapel, their heads bowed, their eyes shut. Even Orin’s eyes were closed. Slowly, quietly, Thad stood and crept away, placing his feet carefully so that they wouldn’t sound against the hard tile floor.

It took a bit of exploring to find the right hallways, the right doors, that led to the little garden. Almost every door he tried was locked, and though he could have picked them easily, it seemed likelier that the boy had gone through an unlocked door. When he finally found his way out, the boy was still there, crouched beside one of the garden beds with his basket beside him as he plucked small, green shoots from among the larger plants. “Hello,” Thad said.

The boy cried out and fell over on his bottom, looking up at Thad in alarm. Then he smiled and gave a nervous laugh. “My, you don’t half make noise, do you? You scared me good.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to,” Thad said. “What were you sneaking around for?”

The boy stood, looking cautiously toward the chapel windows, but they were on the far side of the tree; it seemed unlikely anyone would notice them. “No one’s supposed to be out here. The inspectors keep it all locked up. They only open the chapel for prayer meetings, you know.” He wiped his grubby palms on his pants then offered a hand to Thad. “Name’s Noah.”

Thad accepted the handshake. “I’m Thad.”

“Nice to meet you,” Noah said, crouching down again, plucking the little plants. “But if you don’t mind, I’m going to keep working. I only have ‘til the prayer meeting’s over.”

“What are you doing?” Thad asked, crouching beside him. He looked at the plants, but he didn’t know anything about gardening. People didn’t garden in Pravoka, aside from what could be grown in pots.

Noah cocked his head toward the basket. “Weeding.”

“Can I help?”

“Sure.” Noah handed him one of the shoots he’d picked. “These are what we need, with the spiky leaves. But pull them out carefully. You want to get the whole root.”

They worked side by side, the air around them thick with distant thunder as if the sky would open up any minute. It took some trial and error for Thad to get the hang of picking the plants without breaking them. “Why aren’t you at the prayer meeting?” he asked.

“I never saw the point of them,” Noah said. “Seems like Titan’d have better things to do than listen to us yammer on. I know the white mages were strict about prayer meetings, but something tells me when we get some new ones out here, they’ll be more pleased that the herb garden is in order than that a few people kept up their prayers.”

“Do you think you’ll get new ones?” Thad asked. “I thought people didn’t like them anymore.”

“Those people are stupid. You can’t have a city without white mages. Just look how bad things have got here.”

Thad shrugged. “I’m not from Melmond. I’ve only been here a few days.”

“Well, let me tell you, with no white mages around, nobody does anything nice! No one’s taking care of orphans… or, you know, widows or old folks… No one gets any healing - people die of really dumb things! Like…” Noah waved a hand, reaching for an example. “Like infections!” He sat in the dirt, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. “People used to be able to go to the white mages for anything, you know! To settle arguments, to get extra food when they couldn’t afford any, to sleep under a roof instead of on the street! There’s nowhere to go for help anymore!”

“Well...” Thad said. It was clear the boy felt strongly about white mages. Perhaps he was one of those orphans the mages had cared for? Had slept under their roof to escape the streets? He clearly knew his way around the compound to have found his way to this garden past all the locked doors. Thad wondered what else he might know. “But what about the bad stuff? Isn’t there bad white magic?”

Noah scoffed. “Necromancy? Please. You obviously don’t know any white mages. That’s just a horror story. It never happens.”

Thad nearly argued that yes, he did know a white mage, thank you very much, but remembered not to at the last second. Instead, he only shrugged. “I met a city guard on the way over here who said that’s what killed them.” The guard hadn’t used that exact word, but as Thad didn’t know what that exact word meant, he ran with it anyway.

“That guard’s an idiot. The mages died of the night plague. Everyone knows that. A few of the white mages went to the outer farms to treat it. One brought it back with her. Wiped out the whole lot in one night.”

“One night?” Thad squeaked. He hadn’t heard that before.

Noah rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. It’s not usually that bad. Most people live through it. Besides, you only get it out in the country. The cathedral was the only case of it in town, and that was nearly a year ago.”

The cathedral bell rang out again.

“Time to go,” Noah said. “Come on, you don’t want to get locked inside.”

They hurried through the empty hallways, their steps echoing after them, back to the foyer. People stood chatting with one another, slowly making their way out the door. Thad saw Orin talking with Inspector Lamontagne and strolled casually toward them. He glanced back to bid Noah farewell, but the boy was already gone.

“The sermon was very well done, Inspector,” Orin said. “It is clear you are a man of great faith.”

The inspector waved off the compliment. “No more than any of my comrades. The other Inspectors and I take turns,” and here he gestured to some of the men standing on the outer steps, visiting with the congregants as they left. Though they wore no uniforms, Thad knew they must be Avenue Inspectors as well. “But I know whenever I do it, I always feel that the priests would have done better.”

“Inspector.” They all turned to face the ragged woman who had spoken. She wore a threadbare dress of plain brown cotton, and her hair hung lank around a tear-stained face. “Have you any news about my son?”

Lamontagne shook his head. “No news, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

The woman nodded, hollow-eyed, and shuffled away.

The inspector scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Her child is missing?” Orin asked.

“Teenager,” the inspector corrected. “I know boys that age tend to wander, but he’s been missing nigh on a week, and with no word. He wouldn’t have done his mother that way. They were close. I fear the worst.” He watched the woman’s slow progress down the steps and away. “She’s nearly lost her wits over it. I wish I knew how to comfort her. The priests would have done better there, too. White mages train for that sort of thing.”

 _You can’t have a city without white mages,_ Thad thought. Or maybe you could. It just seemed life was a little worse off without them.

* * *

Kane was surprised Jack lasted as long as he did, to be honest. The play’s fourth act was a whirlwind of emotion. Lena’s quiet sniffles grew more and more pronounced as the audience took it in. When Odelia finally learned what her husband was - too late, for Bertrand had already gone over to the rebels’ side - Lena buried her face in Jack’s chest and sobbed. Jack turned to Kane, panicked eyes in a pinched expression as though he were in physical distress. His hand, as he patted Lena’s hair, maintained the sign of the staff.

Was the box a little colder than it had been before?

The mage left after that, as soon as Lena had calmed herself. When Quincey sharply asked Jack where he was going, Jack begged a nervous stomach and said something about finding the facilities. Kane saw how hard he was concentrating then to contain the aether he’d let rise. He moved stiffly, and when he spoke, it was in a distracted monotone, like a child reading aloud from a text he didn’t entirely understand.

Act Four ended with Bertrand telling the rebels what Doma had done to his prisoners, causing the peace negotiations to break down. Kane moved over into Jack’s vacant seat to hold Lena as she cried again. _What a pair they make,_ he thought. _He can’t handle his own emotions, and she can’t handle everyone else’s._ But, he reflected, Lena would be fine once they got her away from the crowd. Jack couldn’t escape himself.

The battle in Act Five took place behind closed curtains, all shouting and the clanging of steel. Even so, Kane sat at the edge of his seat, engrossed. The theater could never have held all the violence and bloodshed of war, but it held the idea of it more than well enough. The curtain rose to reveal several of the characters lying motionless on the stage, rebels and kingsmen alike, drenched in blood. The only one who moved was Bertrand, equally bloody, dragging himself toward the body of a fallen comrade before he too collapsed.

“Huh,” said Harvey. “I thought for sure they’d skip this part. I mean, if she’s not a white mage, she can’t heal his wounds. He’s supposed to fight Doma to the death.”

Odelia came onstage. One by one, she checked the fallen soldiers, searching for her love, desperately calling his name.

“How is it supposed to end?” Kane asked.

“Haven’t you been paying attention? The rebels won the war! _This_ is the city by the sea!”

“I caught that much,” Kane snapped. “I meant the fight with Doma!”

“Well, Bertrand strikes the mortal blow. Odelia tries to heal Doma, but he’s so evil the spells don’t work. His men see it, realize they’re fighting on the wrong side, and concede to the rebels.”

Odelia cried out as she found Bertrand.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I’m sorry I left you. I should have stayed.”

“No!” she said. “I should have left with you. I should have followed you to the ends of the earth. I love you...”

Her anguished wail when he died echoed through a theater gone silent, as if no one dared to breathe.

It made Logan’s harsh whisper sound louder than it was. “No. This is bad. This is bad.”

Odelia plucked up the sword of the fallen rebel nearby. “To the ends of the earth,” she said, plunging the blade into her gut.

“We need to go,” Gabriel said, standing sharply. “Where’s your brother?”

Kane hesitated, momentarily forgetting he was supposed to have a brother at all. “He’s not back yet.”

The sergeant swore, sticking his head into the hallway and barking orders to their guards. “Find the bastard. We need to leave now!”

“But it’s not over yet!” Nicole protested.

Below, on the stage, Doma and his men appeared, surveying the field. “The rebel army is broken, my lord,” one of the men said. “Victory is ours.”

“It’s over for us,” said Beatrix. “Gabriel’s right. We don’t want to be here when those commoners figure out they’ve been watching white mage propaganda.”

Logan hauled Harvey up by his shirt to get him moving faster. “We’ll make for the townhouse. It’s closest.”

“I agree,” said Gabriel.

Kane glanced at the stage one last time as they left. Doma stood over his dead wife, screaming in rage, blaming the rebels. Kane watched as the general ordered his men to destroy the city by the sea. The curtain fell as they rushed to obey, the entire course of Melmond’s history changed for lack of a simple Cure.

 _It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?_ Kane thought. _A world without white mages?_  

And yet, no one applauded.

* * *

Redden led them through the cave, the caverns so familiar to him that it was like a cruel parody of coming home. He knew these musty smells, the way his steps echoed off the stone walls, the coolness of the air despite the summer heat outside. Again and again they fought against more of those creatures, the dead, and each time the Melmond soldiers grew a little more fearful. They had truly never seen the like before, but then they had never come this deep either.

“Where are they coming from?” Killian asked. “Why have they appeared here now?”

Redden beheaded the thing he’d put down to keep it from rising again. This one wore a black robe. It wasn’t the first. He wondered, if he took the time to search, would he find the black sun amulet of the Penumbra Brotherhood? “They don’t simply appear,” Redden said. “These men came to this cave for some reason. Maybe they were looking for something.”

“I’d say it found them first,” said Leo. The young pirate stood ahead of the others, the light of his torch playing over stones stained reddish-brown. There were bodies, pieces of bodies, so mangled that it was impossible to identify how many bodies there actually were, and in the center of that carnage, the stone altar that had once held a sword. “What could do this? Some kind of beast?”

“No,” Redden said. “This was magic.”

Gus whistled. “Sweet Leviathan, I never knew black magic was capable of such destruction.”

Redden shook his head. “It isn’t. This was white.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _7/7/17: I've been gaming for a long time. Sometimes I forget how long. Yesterday as I was working in the library, shelving some books near our public computers, I overheard two pre-teen boys exclaiming over a video game they were playing online. “Look out!” said the first one. “She’s trying to kill us!” Then they both groaned in frustration, apparently killed by the mysterious girl._   
>  _“Where did she come from?” the second boy asked._   
>  _The first boy shrugged. “I don't know, but she's good. Hey, how come your health is going up faster than mine?”_   
>  _“I don’t know.”_   
>  _“His stats must be higher than yours,” I said over my shoulder._   
>  _“What?” they asked._   
>  _I turned to face their blank looks. “Character stats. You know? Whatever stat effects health regen. His is going to be higher.”_   
>  _They looked at each other as if I’d just spoken to them in Japanese._   
>  _I sighed. “Look, you have defense, right?”_   
>  _The first boy shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”_   
>  _“Are you wearing armor?” I asked. They nodded. “Is there a screen that shows your character's armor?”_   
>  _“Yeah, but it doesn’t do anything,” the first boy said._   
>  _“Let’s see it,” I said, coming around the table to look at the screens over their shoulders._   
>  _“You’ve played this before?” the second boy asked._   
>  _“No, never,” I said. But I might as well have said yes, because the screen they showed me looked like so many others I’d seen before. There were their characters, and there were the stats, and here were two young boys who had obviously never heard of min-maxing. I pointed at the little number labeled “DEF”. “Boys, I’m ‘bout to blow your minds.”_   
>  _A five minute lecture and some armor swapping later, their minds were indeed blown._   
>  _As was that sniper chick when she came back around for them._


	42. Anxious Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Anxious Heart from Final Fantasy VII, a classic FF song that fits this chapter perfectly in both name and mood! Click[here](https://youtu.be/Q7EVCuK7ZqM) for the original, [here](https://youtu.be/uD4qkiP41Cc) for a lovely symphonic version, [here](https://youtu.be/fG0gdJ8UJyw) or [here](https://youtu.be/qodfqjSrEfY) for a couple of amazing trippy remixes (for real, they’re awesome!), or [here](https://youtu.be/aTGERuJLPDI) for a classical acoustic guitar version by Sam Griffin (and if you haven’t checked out any of Sam’s other great stuff, do so! You won’t regret it.)._

The next morning, Lena woke slowly, mind and body swirling together in a pleasant fuzz as the sunlight streamed through the open window. She’d drifted in and out of wakefulness several times before it took, before her thoughts finally penetrated the fog and came back to her. _Oh! The rain stopped…_

The night before, they’d been at the Quinceys’ townhouse in the Blue Quarter less than an hour when the storm started. Lena had felt the change in the air, the steady hum of rain on the roof pounding at her soul like a drum, shaking loose the emotions that had caked over her own like so much dried mud. When the sergeant finally felt it was safe, they’d walked back through the pouring rain to Melmond Manor. Lena had turned her face up to let it wash over her, feeling more like herself than she had in days.

She’d have stayed out in it for hours had it not been so cold. The others had all remarked on it: at this time of year, they said, even the rain should be warm. Poor Jack had been shivering by the time they reached the manor. The fire mage hardly ever seemed bothered by heat, but he appeared to have no tolerance for the cold. It struck her as funny that even in this weather he might be longing for his coat.

She rose to shut the window, left open last night so that she might listen to the rain as she slept, and only then realized how late in the morning it was. _As bad as Harvey,_ she thought. Well, not quite that bad; both Ruby and the sergeant had said the young Lord Leiden never rose before noon, and it surely wasn’t midday yet. Still, she and Jack were due at Seward’s again today, so she got dressed.

Her soul sight showed her that Jack was in the next room, still in bed. _That’s twice I’ve been up before him since we’ve been here,_ she thought. He was usually an early riser. She considered knocking on the connecting door, but that seemed too intimate. Instead, she went out to the hall and rapped on the door there. “Jack? Are you awake?”

She heard movement, footsteps approaching the door, but he didn’t open it. It muffled his voice as he said, “Good morning, my lady,” but even that couldn’t account for how raspy he sounded. “I’m afraid I’ll have to cancel our plans today.”

“You sound awful!” she said.

“No worse than I feel,” he replied. She knew, from his tone, the exact slant of his eyebrows at precisely that moment. It made her smile, despite her worry.

She composed herself before she asked, “What’s wrong?”

“An old complaint. It’s… It’s something I was born with. It’s been giving me trouble.”

An honest answer, yet it bothered her: the fact that he suffered from some lifelong affliction that she didn’t know about only served to remind her that she didn’t know him as well as she would like. “Well, come out. I’ll fix you up,” she said with forced cheerfulness.

After a long delay, he said, “I doubt it’s anything you’ve seen before.”

“I’ve seen a great many things, Jack. I _have_ been at this for seven years, you know!” She tried the doorknob, but it stuck fast. He held it from the inside, keeping her out.

“I’m sorry, my lady! I don’t mean to… to cast aspersions on your education. It’s just that this thing… this particular affliction… it’s magical in nature. A problem with the aether.”

She let go of the knob, considering. She had to admit she had no experience with aetheric maladies. She’d heard of a few, but only vague descriptions. They rarely troubled white mages, and she knew so few black mages. “At least let me try!” she said. “You can’t mean to stay locked in your room all day!”

He stuttered, sounding embarrassed, but she couldn’t sense him through the door even with her soul sight engaged. He’d locked himself inside in more ways than one. “A-actually, yes. That was sort of my plan.”

“Jack-”

“Lena, please!” he said, and that stopped her, for he hardly ever called her by name. She thought she could count the times on one hand, and none of them had ever been good. “I’m not hurt. I’m not sick. I’m just not well. Please. I need time alone.”

_Is that really what you need?_ she wondered. Once upon a time, she had read his soul and found a loneliness there she couldn’t even fathom, a need, a longing, for a friend. She had decided in that instant that she would be that friend, but the closer she got to him, the more he pulled away. He was right there, only a door between them, so why did she feel as though they were miles apart from each other? “Alright,” she said. She had to trust him, trust that he knew what was best for himself.

She headed downstairs, passing Corporal Clyne on the landing. He only grunted when she informed him he would be guarding a stationary target today. She got a small breakfast from the kitchens, but then she didn’t know what to do with herself next. After a moment’s thought, she remembered the pretty fountain in the garden behind the house where she might sit and watch the fish. Her head was still clear from the rain, but more water was always better.

Outside, the grounds seemed unchanged by the storm the night before, no more muddy than usual. The morning was already warm, the air just as humid as it had been since the day they arrived and rich with the smell of wet earth. Lena went through the arched entrance in the garden wall and found her way to the fountain without incident. She sat admiring the view, perfect save for a single wilting rose bush battered by the rain. There were several plants she recognized from her childhood that seemed to grow well here; Onlac wasn’t as hot as Melmond but it also lacked Cornelia’s cold winters.

She listened to the burbling of the fountain, the songs of birds and frogs, the meowing of a cat somewhere, and eventually she heard Ruby’s voice. “-more careful next time. I won’t always be around to rescue you. It’s luck that I was there when you needed me.”

Lena stood, following both her soul sight and the sound of Ruby’s voice, and inside a circle of waist-high hedges, she found the girl kneeling over a small, lidded basket. “Ruby?”

Ruby screamed, turning quickly, then laughed when she saw Lena there. “You scared the life out of me!”  

“I’m so sorry!” Lena said. “I… I heard you speaking.”

“I didn’t know anyone was out here,” Ruby said, turning back to her basket and peeking beneath the lid. “No one else comes here but me. It is _my_ garden, you know.”

“I didn’t realize,” Lena said. “You care for all of this?”

“Well, only the portion nearest the house. I’m afraid I can’t keep up with all of it. Our gardener, Moore, died last winter.” Lena noted Ruby’s grief, sensed that the gardener had been a friend to her, but the other girl kept on in that cheerful tone as though she wasn’t bothered. “Father’s hired several replacements, but I’m afraid none of them have been a good fit. I fired the last one only a month ago. Father was furious, but he trusted my judgment. He can’t tell a daisy from dandelion.”

Lena smiled, trying to ease the conversation away from the topic of the deceased gardener and the pain it seemed to cause. “Why were you talking to a basket?”

“This?” Ruby said, seeming shy all of a sudden. “Oh, it’s just… I found this injured bird, but he seems better now. I was going to release him.”

“A bird?”

“‘Found’ isn’t the right word, really. More like ‘rescued’. It was in the behemoth’s mouth at the time.”

“You have behemoths in Melmond?” Lena said, recalling the illustrations of the Stone Coast beasts she’d seen in her studies of animal anatomy at White Hall.

“Ha! Just the one. Behemoth is what Gabriel calls his cat. He found it as a kitten and got the idea it wasn’t happy in town so he brought it out here. Now it’s a great hulking monster that eats all my songbirds. Gabriel dotes over that thing.”  

Lena tried to picture the strong, stern sergeant doting over a cat, even a monstrous one, but her imagination failed her. She shook her head. “Are you sure the bird is alright? Cat bites can be very nasty.”

“I think so. Moore taught me a few things about healing herbs, so I made a salve.”

She wanted to ask what kind of salve, which plants. She wanted to open the basket and check the bird for herself, but she knew she couldn’t risk looking like she knew too much, not even in front of Ruby. Instead she knelt beside her. “Well, shall we see if it worked?”

Ruby nodded. She took a deep breath and removed the basket’s lid. A bluebird blinked up at them from a handkerchief bed, beside Ruby’s garden tools, a small hand shovel and a pair of clippers, along with a ledger and a stoppered inkwell. The bird shook itself off and flew to the nearest hedge, landing on a branch and flapping experimentally a few times before it launched into the sky and away. Ruby smiled in satisfaction. “I’d say that’s a success.” She gathered her basket and stood to go. “Come on, then,” she said, holding out a hand to help Lena up. “I’ve that luncheon to get ready for, and I know you and your young man have places to be.”

“Oh, no, actually. Jack isn’t… He isn’t feeling well today.”

“No! Really? I told Gabriel someone would catch a chill if we walked back in the rain! Just _had_ to get away from his brothers, didn’t he? Now look what he’s done! That’s awful! Summer colds are the worst. I’ll tell Berta to make him some soup.”

They were passing the fountain now, making toward the exit. Lena slowed her steps.

Ruby said, “And what of you? If you’ve no plans, you could join me for that luncheon. The Ladies’ Charitable League can be dull, but they always put on a nice meal.”

“No, thank you,” Lena said. “I thought I might sit by the fountain today.”

“What, all day?”

“I find the water soothing.”

Ruby smiled, shifting her basket around to dig out the ledger. “If that’s the way it is, do you know where you should go? There’s a frog pond, deep in the garden. It’s a hedge maze, you see, and that’s the middle, all lily pads and water hawthorn. It’s gorgeous. The path is dreadfully overgrown, but I’ll draw you a map.”

“I’d like that,” Lena said.

They sat by the fountain as Ruby flipped through the ledger - sketches of plants with notes in the margins - to the first blank page and drew a path through a complicated design, blowing on it to dry the ink before she ripped it out and handed it to Lena. “There you are. The path is worst just here,” she said, pointing, “but nothing too perilous.”

“Thank you,” Lena said. “I look forward to seeing it.” She headed toward the back of the garden and the entrance to the hedge maze, but stopped when she noticed another familiar plant, though not one from back home. _Musk mallow!_ The catalyst for crafting Remedy. She would know those broad, pink flowers anywhere. The priests grew huge swaths of it at White Hall; apprentices practiced their potions by crafting the simple curatives over and over. She could craft one for Jack. It might not help, but she would feel better for trying.

She looked back to see if Ruby had gone, but the girl was still there, fussing over the rain-beaten rose bush, pruning it with the clippers from her basket. Lena waited, not wanting to be caught harvesting the plants. She could always say she was picking the musk mallow for the flowers - it would have been mostly true, as the flowers were the most effective part - but even the implied lie made her uncomfortable.

There was a flash, what Lena thought at first to be the clippers catching the light. Only a brief flash, she would have missed it had she not been watching Ruby the whole time. Ruby turned, replacing the clippers in the basket that hung on her arm, nestling the lid back down. In her other hand, she held not stray clippings, but three of the most beautiful blooms Lena had ever seen, whole and perfect. Ruby walked away back toward the house; behind her, the bush stood tall in the mid-morning light, its remaining blooms no longer wilted.  

* * *

The day after the storm was hot and bright, the sort of day where Kane didn’t mind staying inside with a cool drink, yet even when he was doing just that, he had trouble relaxing. The dozen or so people in the tavern talked around him, a steady background noise that Kane didn’t even hear anymore. As he sipped at his drink, a bitter local brew that was clearly an acquired taste, his eyes kept drifting to the windows, searching.

“Hello?” said Harvey, startling him back to the present. “Are you still with us?”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening.”

Harvey grinned at the men down the bar from him, the ones he’d been speaking to before, and they laughed. He turned back to Kane. “I’ll say! I asked who you were hoping to see. It’s clear you’re waiting for someone. Is it a girl?”

“No!” Kane said quickly. “I was… I was wondering if my father was back yet. He’s due back today.”

“You ought to go back to the house and wait for him,” Gabriel grumbled. It was the first statement he’d addressed to Kane all day, though Kane didn’t know what he could have done to make the man angry with him.

“Oh?” said a man Harvey had introduced as Aiden, one of Pollendina’s accountants. “Are they staying with you in town, Gabriel?”

“Titan, no!” Harvey answered for him. “He means my house! Gabriel’s been staying with me! His brothers were in town for the revels. He never stays at the Quincey house with them.”

“I imagine you’ll soon be looking for your own place then?” said Aiden. “Now that Logan will be living in town?”

Gabriel choked on his drink. “What?”

“You didn’t know? He was in at the Chocobo yesterday to see Lord Pollendina. His lordship offered him a position with the firm. Didn’t he tell you last night? He said he had plans with you.”

The sergeant only stared.

Harvey cleared his throat, speaking into the awkward silence. “We were somewhat preoccupied with other matters. The play, you know.”

“Heard about that. You were there?” said Aiden.

“A mess!” said the second man, another accountant, though Kane couldn’t remember his name. “The crowd did a number on the Saucer! Thousands of gil in damages. It’s a wonder nobody died.”

Harvey nodded. “Yes, it’s lucky there were so many guards around, else it would have been worse. They had their work cut out for them, from what I hear. How many did you say were there, Gabriel?”

“Thirty-two,” Quincey said. Under his breath, he added, “Not counting myself.” Kane thought he might have been the only one who caught his grimace as he tossed back his drink. The sergeant had tried to go back to the theater the night before, after he’d seen the others to safety at his family’s home, but had relented when his brother and Harvey had argued against it.   

“Thirty-two,” Harvey affirmed. “Both on duty and off, including Commander Malcolm himself, all there to see Diana.”

“It almost seems like they planned it that way. Do you think that’s why they cast her in the lead?” said Aiden.

Harvey laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous! They cast her because she’s brilliant! You should have seen it!”

As Harvey recounted the details of the play, Kane looked to the sergeant. “You alright?” Kane asked him quietly.

Gabriel nodded but didn’t answer.

_He feels like a failure,_ Kane thought. It was written all over the sergeant’s face. “Look, last night... There was nothing more you could have done. You can’t have known-”

Quincey cut him off with only a glare. “If not for you and your brother, I could have done more.”

Kane returned the glare, but bit back his own anger. He knew the sergeant was only lashing out at a convenient target. “You know that’s not true,” he said, keeping his voice even. “If we hadn’t been there, Harvey still would have been. You wouldn’t have abandoned him.”

The sergeant scowled down at his empty cup. “Why _are_ you here? Do you really think anyone believes you came to investigate the Rot? I don’t understand why Lord Leiden didn’t send you back to Cornelia the day you arrived. The sooner your father returns and takes you off my hands, the better.”

Kane nodded. He couldn’t disagree. His gaze turned to the window again.

It was hours before they went back to the manor, but still, his father hadn’t returned. Kane ate dinner at the Leidens’ table, but his father didn’t return. Likely delayed by the storm the night before, Leiden said. Kane sat in the parlor half the evening, waiting, until at last Lord Leiden shooed him off to bed.

That night, he dreamed he was back in Asura’s Tomb, after Astos’s men had drawn from him. He struggled to rise from the cold stone floor. His father lay motionless just beyond his reach, and Kane knew, with the certainty that one sometimes has in dreams, that his father was dead. He woke with the horror of it, the panic still fresh in his mind, so cold that he thought at first that he was still there, but then his eyes adjusted to the gray predawn light and brought him back to Melmond Manor.

Across the room, Jack shivered in his sleep, huddled in the corner under the blanket from the bed. Kane, in the bed, had nothing but a sheet. The night had been warm and the sheet had been enough when he fell asleep, but the mage was getting worse. _He needs that sword,_ Kane thought, _and I need my father._

He would find him, he told himself as he rose and dressed. He’d been so focused on it that he forgot about the guards on the landing. He had no excuse prepared, couldn’t explain what he was doing up at such an early hour, but they didn’t stop him. Sure, one fell into step behind him, and Kane wondered what the man would do if - when - he tried to leave the manor.

He didn’t make it that far, however. When he reached the first floor, he heard Leiden shouting at someone, something about the importance of doing one’s duty. Kane stopped, surprised that the lord of Melmond was already awake, but then he heard his own name. Following the sounds of raised voices, he reached the hallway he knew contained Leiden’s office. He stepped toward the door, but the guard who shadowed him stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and a terse shake of his head.

“-times I have to tell you to do as you are told?” Leiden said, his voice echoing down the hall.

The words reminded Kane so much of the arguments he often had with his father that he was surprised to hear it wasn’t Harvey in the room with Leiden, but Gabriel Quincey, shouting back with firm vigor. “But you’re being unreasonable! I’m useless to you here!”

“What do you think you can achieve on the streets that your comrades can’t? You’re not the only member of the investigation team!”

“I’m one of Malcolm’s best men and you know it! He needs me! Instead, you send him Lord Orin?”

“I’ve already told you, as long as the Cornelians are here-”

Quincey interrupted him. “The Cornelians aren’t a threat! You could set any guard in the corps to watching them!”   

Leiden growled, “Yes, I can! And I’ve set you!”

“To what end? We’re days from the full moon! We have every reason to believe the Brotherhood will kill again, and you have me playing nursemaid to pair of pampered lordlings while you test the abilities of some wrinkled old man!”

“That’s quite enough!” Leiden roared, but Quincey kept right on shouting.

“If you want to compromise the safety of Melmond just so you can prove you’re better than Redden Carmine, you can leave me out of it!”

There was a loud crack - a slap like a peal of thunder - and then silence. Kane shook off the hand of the guard behind him and stepped toward the door, but stopped when he heard Leiden’s voice again, quieter now, cold and hard. “My son may call you brother, but I am _not_ your father. I am your lord. Don't forget it again.”

After a long beat, Quincey replied, “Yes, sir.”

Without hesitation, Leiden said, “You’re dismissed, sergeant.”

When Quincey emerged scowling, his cheek red and inflamed, he seemed surprised to see Kane in the hall but he kept walking. “Thank you, Bentley. I’ll take it from here,” he said to the other guard. He pushed Kane lightly to get him moving. “Come on.”  

“Where are we going?” Kane asked.

“The training yard,” said Quincey, idly rubbing his cheek. “I need to hit something.”

“Something like a pampered lordling? Afraid I haven’t seen any of those around.”

Gabriel smirked. “Haven’t you? Feel free to prove me wrong.”

* * *

Thad had been hiding in the parlor when Lena found him. The room was abandoned in the middle of the day and he had gone there to be alone, but she’d been so concerned for him that he hadn’t the heart to tell her to go away. “I felt your sadness all the way upstairs! What’s wrong?” she asked, looking like a fine lady in one of Ruby’s dresses, leaning over him in his hiding place behind the sofa.

_What isn’t wrong?_ he wondered. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She reached down to pull him up. “Then we won’t. Come on. Come with me.”

She led him to a door at the back of the house, across a manicured lawn, into a garden. She said not a word, merely led him along by the hand. Though Thad had said he didn’t want to talk about his troubles, he found himself talking about them anyway to fill the silence. “But he said I couldn’t go with him! And when I said, well, what did he expect me to do all day? He said I was clever enough to come up with something, and then he left for town without me!”

Lena tutted under her breath. “I’m sorry he did that to you, Thadius. No wonder you were upset.” She frowned down at a piece of paper she held. “Hold on. I think we were supposed to turn back there.”

Thad looked around, suddenly aware of the height of the bushes, the way they closed in around them. He’d been so busy complaining that he hadn’t watched where he’d been going. “Wait, is this a maze? Are we lost?”

Lena grinned at him. “Yes, it is. And no, we’re not. I have a map, see?” She held it out for him. “Ruby gave it to me yesterday. There’s a wonderful little place at the center, but the Leidens have been without a gardener this year so the path is a bit wild.” She pulled Thad after her through a gap in the hedges that didn’t look like much of a path at all. “I’m surprised you didn’t follow Lord Orin into town anyway. It’s unlike you to give up so easily.”

He tried to pay more attention as they walked - a good thief didn’t go in strange places without memorizing exits and escape routes - but all the bushes looked the same to him. Besides, he wasn’t supposed to be a thief anymore. “I did follow him, but he caught me. And he said if I didn’t do as I was told, then I couldn’t be his apprentice, and if I wasn’t his apprentice then he didn’t need to stay with us and he would go back to Cornelia!”

“I see,” Lena said, nodding. “I know it sounds mean, Thadius, but Lord Orin is only trying to keep you safe. The Brotherhood is dangerous. If his investigations have uncovered something, I understand why he would want to leave you behind.”

“They’re not just his investigations!” Thad snapped, frustrated. “I’ve been helping! I thought I was doing well! I’m the one who found those healing potions! I’m useful! Aren’t I?” He stopped on the weedy path. He could feel his lip quivering, but to his shame, he couldn’t control it.

“You are!” Lena said. She wrapped him in a hug. “Don’t you remember how you freed Princess Sarah when she was all chained up? Or how you and Jack went to get Oscar when Aryon needed the elixir? You’ve been so useful, Thadius.” She wiped the tears from his face. “Come now. We’re nearly there. It’s just ahead.”

They followed the overgrown path, passing several other trails that looked more or less identical, but Lena’s map proved true, and they soon came to a break in the hedges, a latticed archway where climbing roses had taken reign. “Watch for the thorns,” Lena said, leading him through. Inside, the hedges formed a wide ring. Opposite the archway sat a perfect little pond, a miniature lake as clear as window glass all the way to the pebble-strewn bottom. A lone turtle sunned itself on the mossy bank like a king on his throne, and the little white flowers that grew in the water smelled strongly of vanilla.

It was easier to talk there, sitting beside Lena in the sunshine, their shoes off and their feet in the water as the frogs croaked in the background. He told her everything he’d seen around Melmond since their arrival, glossing over the parts where he had been sneaky or lied to people, as he suspected she wouldn’t approve of such behaviors. She seemed startled when he recounted his trip to the cathedral, telling her about the sad woman whose son was missing and about the guard on the street who feared white magic. “I met a boy who said there was no such thing as bad white magic. He said it was only a story. But if there’s no such thing, why is there a word for it? He called it nep… nepromancy?”

“Necromancy,” Lena corrected. “It’s no story, Thadius.”

“But what is it?”

“It’s what happens when a white mage goes mad,” Lena said. “If a white mage loses someone, someone they would give anything to bring back, if they’re driven to madness by it…” She shook her head. “It always ends badly. Bodies can be revived, but not souls. Once the soul is gone, it’s truly gone. The thing that comes back is never a real person.”

“Like a monster?” Thad asked.

“Yes,” Lena nodded. “Terrible monsters. But the white mage becomes the worst monster of all. It takes a piece of the mage’s own soul to revive someone who has died. If they try too many times, they’re left without a soul of their own. Eventually, they become… something else. Something inhuman. I don’t know that there’s even a word for it. It’s very rare, Thadius. I do know this much: if there were a necromancer wandering free in Melmond, we would know it.” She shuddered, and Thad shuddered with her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. What happened after that?”

Thad shrugged. “We asked about that woman’s son, but we didn’t find anything. I mean, we found out about other people going missing - people go missing all the time! - but nothing about the woman’s son. I feel bad for her.”

“It is very sad,” said Lena. “I would be sad if anything happened to you, Thadius. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he said, embarrassed by the affection in her voice.

“Promise me you’ll be careful while you’re in town. Don’t go wandering around on your own.”

He kicked his feet in the water, startling a few dragonflies. “You sound just like Jack. He said the same thing last night.”

She didn’t say anything. She was quiet for so long, that he looked over at her, but found her staring into the water. “You had a lesson with Jack last night?” she asked at last. “I thought he was ill.”

Thad nodded. “He has a cold or something. He says I won’t catch it. We mostly talked the whole time, ‘cause he says he can’t do spells right now.” It wasn’t how he had imagined learning magic would be when Jack had given him that first demonstration on the way to Matoya’s cave. He’d come so far since that long ago day - he’d read the Adept’s Grimoire twice over, could read an aether diagram, could see the aether - but he still had so far to go. “I don’t know how to do anything yet. I thought I’d be able to do it by now.”

Lena shrugged. “Magic takes time.”

“What if I’m one of those black mages who never learns any spells?” he asked. They did exist, people who could see the aether but couldn’t do anything with it. Such people were technically black mages. The idea that he might be one of them worried him. No matter how hard he tried to draw the aether, nothing happened. He could see it, and he could feel it, but it felt to him the way water did when he was swimming: the press and flow of it around him, the feel of it against his skin, but he couldn’t grab it, couldn’t shape it. He also couldn’t see the colors Lena had described for him. Jack had told him it was because he relied on his eyes too much. Although it was called “aether sight”, it was more feeling than seeing. Thad couldn’t figure out how to make it work. “What if I’m not a good enough mage?”   

Lena put her arm around him and squeezed. “You’re still a Warrior of Light. Just like me. Just like Kane and Jack. I don’t think the gods would have chosen you for something you can’t do. If you’re not a good mage, then that just means the gods chose you for some other reason. Maybe they needed a thief? Maybe the thing that saves the world is locked away somewhere and only you can find it?”

He nodded, skeptical, but oddly comforted. He had been trying since Cornelia to learn how to be a Warrior of Light. That he could be one of them just as he was, with the talents he already possessed, was an idea he hadn’t considered before.

“Are you ready to go back to the house now?” she asked.

He almost said yes. It had to be nearly lunchtime, and he was hungry, but what would he do there, with Orin gone to town? “Can we stay a little longer?” he asked. “It’s private here. I could practice my magic things, couldn’t I?”

Lena smiled. “Of course. I need practice too. I spent hours here yesterday trying to learn a new spell myself. We’ll stay as long as you like.”

Thad closed his eyes, calling up the aether sight, trying to view the frog pond through the aether alone, trying to _feel_ the color of Lena’s aura beside him. He watched as Lena formed a spell and the white wall of Protect sprang up around her. She attempted a second spell, shifting the aether first one way and then another, never quite getting the spell to come together.

Watching her shape the aether, he tried to do the same, but it was like smoke, intangible. Discouraged, he wandered around the pond instead. He rolled up his pant legs and waded, chasing the tiny fish that lived along the pond’s stony bottom. He looked closely at the sun-bathing turtle, which didn’t even move when he approached it. He sniffed at the little white flowers that grew in the water, and then investigated the plants that grew in front of the hedges that surrounded the pond. He recognized the spiky leaves: this was the plant he had picked with Noah at the cathedral garden, the weed. He knelt and began idly plucking the tiny shoots.

He felt the aether change as Lena stopped attempting her spell. “Oh, Thadius! Don’t pick those! Those are important!”

“These ones?” he said, holding one up for her. “Aren’t they a weed?”

“Well, in a flower garden, yes, but not to me!” She walked over and knelt beside him, gently sticking the little plants back in the ground. “This is Aegir Root. It’s used in healing potions.”

“Oh,” he said. His heart sank as he thought of Noah, trying to be helpful, to be useful, by keeping the cathedral garden in order but picking the wrong plants by mistake. He thought of all the things he had done to try to be useful to Orin, wondered what he might have got wrong himself. “I’m sorry! Did I hurt it? Is it… Is it hard to grow?”

“No, it’s fine. It’s very hard to kill, and very easy to grow. Look.” She scooted some dirt aside near one of the stalks and pointed out an oddly shaped tuber. “The bulbs come up in the spring. You get the seedlings in the summer and they tend to be delicate - that’s why the plant makes so many of them - but the bulbs can survive almost anything.”

Thad nodded, relieved. There had been a lot of seedlings at the cathedral, many more than he and Noah had been able to pick in their short time together. Maybe he would see the boy again and could tell him to leave the plants alone.

Lena kept a couple of the seedlings, slipping them into a pocket of her dress. “I’ll use these,” she said. “I made a Remedy for Jack yesterday. I’ll add these to the next one.”

“You can do that?” he asked. “With the little ones? It’s not just the big roots?”

Lena nodded. “The smaller stalks are good for single use potions. It’s less effective, but also less work. I can’t exactly wander into the kitchens and brew a big batch. But Cure is scalable. You can cast it bigger or small…” She trailed off, and her eyes grew wide. “Wait… smaller! That’s it!”

She pushed to her feet and hurried around the pond to the turtle. It had been asleep until she picked it up. It squirmed in her hands, swimming through empty air. Thad felt the aether move, saw it through his aether sight, and the turtle shimmered as Protect formed over it. Lena squinted, moved the aether somehow, and the Protect shattered. “Oh!” she cried. “I did it!”

“What?” Thad said. “What did you do?”

“Dispel! I’ve learned Dispel! I had to make it smaller, don’t you see?” She set the turtle down - it plopped into the water and settled on the bottom - then she fiddled with the aether again, this time on the Protect she had cast on herself. After only one false start, the Protect dissolved. She squealed in delight. “I did it!” she said again.

She ran over to Thad, dropping to her knees in front of him. She reached for his face, stopping to ask, “May I?”

He nodded. She placed her hands on his cheeks and closed her eyes. He tried to follow the flow of aether, but without success. The Protect formed around him seemingly from nothing, like a glass breaking in reverse. He noticed, though, that the spell she cast after that, the Dispel, was smaller. It pierced the Protect like a sewing needle through silk, unraveling the whole thing. He felt it dissipate an instant before Lena’s cry of excitement.

“It works!” she said. “Oh! It works!” She stood, pulling Thad up with her, dancing him in a circle. “I did it!”

He smiled, happy for her, but even before her excitement faded, his own worries came rushing back in. She’d learned a new spell, but what progress had he made? None. _What good am I?_ he wondered. Hot tears stung his eyes.

She must have felt it. “Oh, Thadius,” she said, stopping her dance as she hugged him tight and kissed the top of his head. “It will be alright. I promise.”

She held him as he cried.

* * *

They had stopped for the night in a field west of the estates. So close, but after the day’s march north through the Rot, Redden couldn’t have gone another step.

He could hear the clash of practice swords as he and his men approached the house. This early, the guards would still be training in the yard, but one of those left on duty soon spotted him. Redden heard the man shout the news. A few guards rushed out to them, offering aid, but Redden waved them off. He’d come around the side of the house by then, and he could see the training yard, could see the red-headed figure of his son out there practicing with another soldier. Kane was safe. Redden breathed a sigh of true relief for the first time since he’d left five days ago.

The guard’s shout went down the line. Men in the yard turned to see what the fuss was about. Kane turned, and even from that distance Redden could see his smile, the same smile he’d had as a child, unchanged by the passing years. The boy threw his sword down and ran, jumping the training yard fence, shouting, “Father!”

_Not a boy,_ Redden thought as Kane’s unreserved embrace nearly bowled him over, as the strength of that hug momentarily lifted him off his feet. _A man._ When had his son grown up?

Leiden came out to meet him, told him he would expect a full report that evening at dinner. Leo, Gus, the others who had gone with him, all departed. Redden went inside. He wanted a meal and a bath and to sleep for a week, but all of that had to wait. Jack was ill, Leiden said. Jack, who was supposed to be his other son. He’d all but forgotten. That was the trouble with lies: you had to remember them. A concerned father wouldn’t rest until he’d assured himself his son was alright, so despite his weariness, he trekked up the stairs to the room that had once been Cid’s and he knocked quietly on the door.

He closed his eyes a moment, drifting off there on his feet, before a commotion from the other side of the door startled him awake again, the sounds of someone rushing forward, tripping, hastily fumbling against the lock.

Jack pulled the door wide, a blast of cold air surging into the hall. The mage was covered head to toe with the embroidered blanket from the bed, his aether-tinted eyes above his scarf glowing out from beneath the makeshift hood. “Redden!” he said, the relief palpable in his voice. “Thank the gods!”

“What are you doing, fool boy?” Redden asked, looking down the hall to be sure no one had followed him, then shoving Jack back into the room and closing the door behind them both. “Magic? What if someone had seen?”

“That’s why the door was locked! I read the aether before I opened it. We’re the only ones on this floor.”

Redden plopped into the room’s only chair, then stared at the young man. “Are you treating a fever? I know it’s hot outside, but this-”

“I’ve been unwell,” Jack said simply, sitting on the bed.

“So I’ve heard. Leiden tells me you’ve been holed up in here for two full days. You and I both know Lena would have Cured you if you were actually ill, so it can only be something else. Out with it, then. Has Leiden mistreated you?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “No more than he would any other _bastard_ in his care.”

“It’s a little late to object to that premise now, you realize?”

“I know,” Jack said, huffing in frustration. “I know it’s silly, but… It bothers me, being called a bastard. I don’t remember my parents well, but I do know they were happily married.”

Redden tried not to glare at him. “So was I,” he said.

Jack hunched his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought how you must feel about it. I’m glad you’re alright, Redden. We were worried for you.”

Redden nodded in thanks, too tired to voice a response.

“Now that you’re back,” Jack said, “will we be able to go soon?”

“Go?” said Redden. “Go where?”

“Back to the ship. Away from here.”

Redden only shook his head.

“But…” Jack said, looking at him with wide, glowing eyes. “But you said we were only here for the cave. You’ve _been_ to the cave. What else is there?”

Was that panic in the mage’s voice, or was he shivering? Redden couldn’t tell. He himself was starting to feel uncomfortably cool, and he’d just arrived. “We’re not going anywhere,” Redden told him. “The Brotherhood had been in that cave. We know they’re here in Melmond. Whatever they’re doing in this town, it’s connected. We can’t leave until I know why.”

Jack shook. _Definitely shivering,_ Redden realized. The corona in the mage’s eyes glowed a little brighter. “I can’t stay here, Redden! Please,” he said, struggling to get the words out through chattering teeth.

The room was colder. Redden saw his breath fogging in front of him. “What is this?”

“I can’t control it. I _need_ a focus object. That’s why I took your sword - I had to leave my staff on the ship. But I can’t hold it back anymore, Redden! If we’re staying here, I won’t make it! Please.”

Redden stared. The young man shook hard, like a leaf in a stiff wind, seeming to curl in on himself with the force of it, seeming smaller, helpless. “Is this a joke?” Redden said, his jaw stiff and tight. “Is this supposed to be funny?”

Jack shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You’re supposed to be a Warrior of Light!” Redden snapped. Jack flinched. “With Kane! My son! You’re supposed to have his back!”

“I do!” Jack said.

“I trusted you!” He stood, looming over the quivering boy on the bed. Redden couldn’t have stopped yelling if he tried. “When the mage council named Kane a Warrior of Light and sent him out into the world with only a white mage and a tailor’s apprentice, I thought at least he had you! One capable black mage!”

“Redden-”

“And now you tell me you can’t even control the raw aether unaided? One of the most basic skills a _child_ mage can master?”

“Yes,” Jack said, his voice a low hiss, his teeth chattering. He stood, leaving the blanket behind, though he shook terribly. His eyes, blazing white, narrowed in anger. “Yes, that’s w-what I’m telling you. I _c-can’t_ control it. I couldn’t control it when I saved your son from Garland’s last spell. Or f-from the pirates in Pravoka. Or from Astos. But I saved him anyway. I will keep s-saving him, and everyone else I care for.” He went to the door, opened it. “I’ll thank you to leave now.”

The mage was so quiet, so calm, even as he stuttered from the cold, that Redden was ashamed. Not for any particular thing he had said - at that moment, he believed every word - but that he had shouted it. He was done shouting now. What more could he say? He headed toward the door, but he stopped before he went through it. He unbuckled his sword belt, shoved weapon and belt together into Jack’s chest, hard enough he knew it must have hurt. He didn’t say anything as he left.

* * *

Days passed, each one colder than the day before. At sunset, when the light came in hot and bright through the room’s west-facing window, Jack would stand in the sunbeam and imagine he stood before the largest fire he could create; the aether surged around him with such violence, he didn’t dare attempt a flame big enough to light a candle.

On the morning of his seventh day in Melmond, seven days since he’d drawn power from Quincey on Farplane Avenue, the day after Redden’s return from the cave, he opened the window to the warmer air and stood near it but felt no relief.

Someone knocked. Jack knew it was Kane, not only because he could clearly see the guardsman’s yellow aura, but because Kane was the only one who ever checked in on him. The servants left trays of food outside the door for him at mealtimes, but they never knocked. Jack knew they found it odd that he had taken to locking himself in. Lena hadn’t spoken to him, not even through the door, since that first time. Thad only came by in the evenings, but Orin never came with him. After yesterday, Jack doubted he would ever see Redden again.

He opened the door for his friend. Kane sighed as he stepped into the cold. “Ah, that would be wonderful if it wasn’t so disturbing,” he said. He carried a tray which he set on the desk before stripping off his sweat-sodden shirt and tossing it in the corner. “Hell, it’s wonderful anyway. Sorry. How are you holding up?”   

“F-fine,” said Jack, teeth chattering. _Lonely,_ he thought. All his life he’d sought solitude, and now that he had it he was lonely. He stood wrapped in not only the blanket from their bed but the one from Lena’s next door, as well as every scarf he owned. “Were you training with Quincey again?”

“Mmm,” Kane said by way of affirmation. “And it’s already roasting out there.” In the washbasin, the pitcher was coated in frost. Kane poured the water over a rag and held it to his face a moment, clearly trying, for Jack’s sake, not to show how nice it felt. He motioned toward his father’s sword, which Jack had left on the bed. “That sword’s not helping, is it?”

Jack sat on the bed beside the weapon, shivering. “Better than nothing,” he lied. The room was so cold that Kane no longer slept there, but had taken the servant’s room down the hall that had originally been given to Lena. Jack knew that some of her things were still in that room, just as some of Kane’s were in the room next door, enough to fool the servants who cleaned the rooms. It made their mornings interesting. “What have you brought me?”

Kane ran the cloth over his neck and shoulders before wetting it down again. “Ruby sent that for you. Apparently she has an herb garden. ‘Special tea blend,’ she says. It’s supposedly full of healing herbs.”

“Supposedly?” said Jack.

Kane shrugged, smirking as he slipped on a fresh shirt. His mood had improved dramatically since his father’s return; he was his old, joking self again. “Maybe she means to poison you. I hear poison is a woman’s weapon.”

Jack went to the tray on the desk, removing the cover to reveal a small teapot, a single cup, and a plate of what looked like plain toasts alongside a little jar of honey with a spoon in it. “Hmm,” he said, squinting at it. “It seems healthy enough.” He worked at pulling his scarves down, the act taking more effort because they outnumbered him.

“I didn’t know the aether sight could detect things like that,” said Kane.

“It can’t,” Jack said, pouring a cup that steamed all the more for the coldness in the room. “But it’s hot, so I’ll risk it.”

Kane grinned, trying for a casual tone. “If I come back later to find you dead, I’ll avenge you.”

Jack cracked a smile. “Don’t strain yourself.” He sipped the tea. “That’s good,” he said, downing the cup.

“Can I try?”

Jack blocked him as he moved toward the tray. “My poison. Get your own.”

Kane laughed. “Speaking of poison, here.” He pulled a small, glass bottle out of his pocket and tossed it lightly.

Jack caught it out of the air. It glinted with captured aether. A Remedy. He grimaced. Remedies were bitter and terrible, and he knew he didn’t need it, but Lena didn’t know that, and she had made it for him. He pinched his nose shut and gulped it down, coughing after. “Ugh. That’s awful. You tell her I drank that.”

“I’ll tell her,” Kane said, rolling his eyes. He opened the wardrobe and fished out one of the jackets he’d been given. Jack considered grabbing one for himself. Or two. He pulled the blankets around him tighter.

“You’d better,” Jack said. He poured himself another cup of tea, drank it slower than the first one. “Are you going out with Harvey again today?”

Kane frowned into the mirror as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I think we’re supposed to go to the dog races.”

Jack made a noncommittal noise over his tea.

Kane sighed. “I don’t get it, Jack. Harvey’s supposed to be the next Lord of Melmond, but I haven’t seen him do anything lordly since the day we arrived!”

“Sergeant Quincey did mention as much our first night here,” Jack said, his words clipped as he tried not to stutter.

“I thought he was exaggerating! Do you know what we did yesterday? We spent all afternoon at his favorite tavern. Just… just sitting around! And the day before that, we did the same! Surely he has some duties? Some obligations?”

Jack shrugged. “You’d know more about that than I would. You grew up in a castle. I’m an orphan from Crescent Lake.”

After Kane had gone, leaving him alone again, he passed the time huddled up with a thick book Lord Unne had sent by, a treatise on high Leifenish. He’d been at it perhaps an hour when Orin knocked on his door. Jack didn’t know why he should be embarrassed to have the monk see him shivering, but he was. He set the blankets aside, shrugged off one of the two jackets he wore, and held Lord Redden’s sword firmly in his mind before he let the monk in.

“Young master Jack,” Orin said, smiling. “I have come for a report.”

“Report?” said Jack, sitting on the bed again to be closer to the sword, trying to keep his hands clasped in his lap rather than pick up the blade. Even without his aether sight, Orin’s dark green aura beckoned to him from the doorway.

“Indeed. I wish to know how Thadius is performing.” Orin closed the door, locking it behind him.

“Fine, I guess,” Jack said, shrugging. “We’re still working on reading the aether.”

The monk nodded. “And drawing on the aether?”

Jack shook his head. “He’s not there yet.”

Orin came and sat beside Jack on the bed, but Jack picked up the sword and crossed the room to get away from him. Orin said, “Lena tells me the boy is most discouraged by his lack of progress.”

Jack chuckled. “He needn’t be. Mages mature at different rates. I’ll talk to him tonight.”

“Please, do,” said Orin. “But you say he has not drawn on the aether? Nor completed any spells?”

Jack shook his head. “It could be weeks before he gets there. Months. There’s no way to know.”

The monk nodded. “Then it is unlikely anyone here will suspect him of being a mage. It is only you we have to worry about.”

“Me?” Jack said.

“It would seem that Lord Leiden and his friend the secretary have been keeping secrets. I overheard a private conversation between the two of them this morning. Leiden keeps a file in his office, in a warded drawer, a file detailing the comings and goings of a certain ship and its cargo. That file is now missing. The wards, which seem to have been placed by the Lord Secretary, are no longer in place. Leiden suspects a mage spy, perhaps of the Brotherhood.”

Jack’s grip on the sword tightened, but he felt the cold rising nonetheless. “Here? In the house?”

“Clearly, you did not take this file, young master Jack.”

Jack shook his head.

Orin clucked his tongue. “I thought as much. You seem distraught. You said before that the aether responded to your emotions. Have you tried the meditation exercises I taught you?" He stood, walking toward Jack. Jack found himself backed into the corner.

“Among other things,” Jack said, gripping the sword.

“It would seem these other things are no good to you. Am I correct?” The monk’s eyes never left his.

Jack nodded, too ashamed to speak.

“You told me this is a problem of dark magic. Why did you not tell Lord Redden? You let him believe you were incompetent as a mage rather than tell him the truth.”

Jack flushed. He had almost told Redden. He’d been so close. But when he’d admitted his failings, when he’d begged to leave, Redden had responded in anger. _“I trusted you,”_ he’d said. Jack couldn’t break his trust any further.

Orin went on, “I have fought dark mages for many years. I have never seen this lack of control before. Why do you suffer where these other dark mages do not?”

“Because,” Jack said, his voice cracking so much that he had to start again. “Because I won’t draw from people.”

Orin’s eyebrows rose. “It is necessary?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said, forcing his way past the old man, toward the water basin to pour himself a drink. “At any rate, I haven’t found a way around it. I can’t control it, Orin. Even with the sword. Gods, I’ve tried. I’ve tried! It’s gotten so much worse!” He drank the glass down, immediately poured another. He leaned against the basin, steadying his breath, before he turned to face Orin once more. “It’s like a hole has opened up inside me, and the aether pours into it. When I’ve-” He choked on the words. “When I _have_ drawn from someone else, it fills the hole. Temporarily, but it works.”

Orin nodded, as though he’d reached a decision. “Then your path seems clear,” the old man said, crossing the room to him. “You must draw from me.”

Jack tried to step away, but the monk grabbed his arm and held it. “Orin-”

Orin shook his head. “We cannot risk these people knowing about you. Anyone who sets foot in this room will know you for a mage - you cannot hide it as you are! Do you think they will stop to ask you if you are the spy?”

“If I could just learn to control it-” Jack said.

“But you cannot,” said Orin. “Do not be so selfish as to endanger our mission here for the sake of your own pride.”

“It isn’t pride,” Jack said, quietly. “It’s shame.”

“Ah, young master Jack. It is the same. Where do you think shame comes from?” The monk loosened his grip, patted Jack’s arm. “There is no shame in seeking help for our weaknesses. Let me help you.”

Jack’s mind ran in circles. He couldn’t do it. He had to do it. He couldn’t do it. He had to do it. He hated it. _He wanted it._

Orin sat in the chair by the desk. “You will not hurt me, master Jack. Remember, I am familiar with the sensation.”

He stared. The old man was so matter-of-fact about it.

“Do not take all day. I have promised Miss Leiden I would join her for brunch.”

It was such an absurd thing to say that Jack laughed. This was absurd. The entire situation was absurd. He was a dark mage, and his victim sat calmly with his hands folded, worried more about missing his social engagements than about being drained of life-sustaining aether. He laughed, and he couldn’t stop laughing. Cold moved through the room.

When he finally gained control of himself some minutes later, he looked over to Orin, who smiled his wrinkled smile. “Are you ready?” Jack said.

Orin dipped his head. “I am ever ready.”    

He counted down from three, and then he drew. The aether calmed instantly, so quickly that he staggered from the lack of it. It was as if he’d been standing in an earthquake for days and now the world was still. He fell back against the wall, breathing hard, and Orin was there, steadying him.

“Are you alright, master Jack?”

“Me? What about you?”

Orin waved a hand dismissively, but Jack noticed that it was shaking. “I have told you. I am no stranger to dark magic. Though, when you are recovered, perhaps you would not mind helping me down the stairs.”

“Of course,” Jack said, surprised to find that he was nearly recovered already. He straightened. “Thank you.”

Orin smiled wider, patting his arm.

He guided the old man down the stairs, marveling as the aether remained calm all the while. He sent his senses out toward it, revelling in it, surrounded by it. It was like sinking into a warm bath rather than drowning in a turbulent sea. It remained calm even when they reached the parlor, where Ruby waited for Lord Orin and Lena waited with her. It remained calm when Orin said, “Lena, look who I have found,” and she turned and smiled.

“Jack!”

The aether didn’t stir. Even when she rushed over to him. Even when she caught him in a tight embrace. He held her and said, “Hello, my lady,” and his heart sang but the aether didn’t stir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _8/4/17: The dreaded Summer Reading Program ends tomorrow and not a moment too soon! I, librarian extraordinaire, have survived against this great foe, reaping loads of EXP. I might even level up from this one… I’ll let you know after my next Performance Review._   
>  _Recently, a friend and I had a conversation along the lines of, “Tinygaia, you can’t really expect me to believe Jack does everything he does while wearing gloves and a mask. That’s not possible.” And I said, “Yes, it is. Let me tell you how I know.”_   
>  _Readers, I garden. And in my garden, the poison ivy grows rampant. My house was vacant for many years before I bought it, and in that time the poison ivy spread wild and free. In one corner of the yard I haven’t got to yet, there’s a fricking poison ivy TREE. It’s as tall as the house, with a trunk as thick as my thigh. The tiny “leaves of three” shoots crop up EVERYWHERE, and, because I prefer not to use chemicals, I have to pull them out by hand._   
>  _So when I go out to weed my gardens (several hours per week in the spring and summer), you bet your ass I’m covered head to toe. I’m out there in a long-sleeved, high-collared shirt, a scarf around my neck and face, gloves, long pants, thick boots, and a ridiculous floppy hat. Even when it’s 107F outside (which was the average heat index in my area for the month of July). When I describe Jack’s layers, please know I speak from experience._   
>  _You’d be amazed at the things I know for a fact Jack can do with gloves on. Yes, he can write in those gloves. He can button his shirt. He can turn pages. If he had a cell phone, he could text with it. He can breathe in that scarf, and he can do all manner of bending and hauling and lifting without losing his hat. Trust me on this._   
>  _Honestly, Phil. You’re reading a story about magic and black mages and prophecies. You can’t suspend disbelief over Jack’s gloves? Really?_


	43. The Stone's Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: The Stone’s Secret from Final Fantasy XII. Click[here](https://youtu.be/y7LC1POqYHY) for the original (remastered for The Zodiac Age!)._

_The West Hills, Twenty-four Years Ago_

It was a small house, modest but well-made, with neatly painted shutters and a little garden of healing herbs by the front gate. As Cid knocked at the door, Redden admired the place, tucked among the green slopes of the West Hills like an egg in a nest, a typical white mage residence for an atypical white mage, disgraced and dismissed by the cathedral some years before. The fact that she was the only one left who had a chance of completing the ritual must have grated on Father Ladimer.

Cid knocked again, impatiently trying the knob - locked - but by then Redden had noticed the weeds peeking out from behind the musk mallow, noted the cobwebs clinging to the broom handle that leaned beside the door. “She’s not at home,” he said. “Hasn’t been for some time, from the looks of things.”

“Of course she’s not,” Cid growled. “I mean, why would she be? It’s not as if we’ve been most of a day getting to this gods-blighted place!” He hit the door once more with the flat of his hand then turned to his brother. “What do you want to do now?”

Redden sighed. “It doesn’t matter what I want. There’s only one other place she could be, and we need her.” He’d known, hadn’t he? The moment he’d heard that the last qualified white mage was in the West Hills, Redden had known it would end like this, with him and his brother returning to their father’s house, the home of the man who had given them away.

Cormorant Hall brooded on the edge of a cliff facing the sea, like a sailor’s wife waiting for a ship to come in. There were no ships here; the stones that made up the West Hills extended into the water for miles and miles, stone daggers sharpened by rough waves that would tear a ship to pieces before it ever got within sight of land. When they rounded the last hill that blocked their view of the lonely house, Cid said, “How long has it been?”

“Nine years,” Redden replied, though he knew full well that Cid knew that.

Someone must have spotted them. A handful of soldiers emerged from the Hall and came their way, indistinct at this distance but for their red and white uniforms, the Carmine family colors.

“Right,” Cid said, stepping forward to meet their escort. “Let’s get this done.”

“A moment,” Redden said. His calves were burning. He stopped on the path, catching his breath, watching the seabirds that gave the house its name wheel and dive into the choppy waters below.

“You’re not tired, are you?” Cid asked, as fresh as if they hadn’t walked a full day already.

Redden shook his head. “I’m just not used to these hills anymore.”

Cid clucked his tongue. “That’s awkward, considering you’ll rule them someday.”

Redden didn’t respond.

Minutes later, the guards arrived. They were all of them young, their leader a fresh-faced youth of perhaps fifteen. The bright crimson of his uniform went poorly with the brassy red of his short hair. He bowed, smiling broadly. “Good afternoon, m’lords. I’m to escort you to your father. This way, please.”

Redden waited for Cid to make the first move. His brother stood, regarding the boy a moment before motioning to the boy’s hair. “Are you one of his?” he asked, his voice emotionless.

“Cid!” Redden hissed.

Cid rolled his eyes. “It’s a simple enough question. You can’t expect me to remember all of his bastards after all these years.”

The boy blushed, another clashing shade of red. “Couldn’t say, m’lord.”

He probably wasn’t, Redden knew. Red hair was not uncommon among the Hill folk; the boy could have come by it honestly. But Cid was right: it was impossible to keep track of Lord Carmine’s bastards. Their father tried to do well by them, those he knew about, finding them apprenticeships and positions in other houses, but he rarely kept them. If this boy was one, it was unlikely Lord Carmine would have kept him so close.

It wouldn’t stop Cid from regarding the boy jealously. Cid seemed to view each of their half-siblings as an affront, a sign that he wasn’t enough. Redden, on the other hand, had trouble thinking of the bastards as his siblings at all. They were strangers to him. Redden sometimes felt sorry for them, these servants and tradesmen he didn’t know; the accident of birth that made him a twin was the only thing that separated his status from theirs.

“Ignore him,” Redden said, waving the boy forward. “Lead the way.”

They saw no one else on the steep path, no one around the house. No other guards hailed them, no servants came out to meet them. When they reached the wide front door, the young guard opened it and waved them through without so much as knocking. The rest of their escort fell back as Redden and Cid stepped inside.

Lord Gaian Carmine stood halfway up the stairs, coming down, an irritating smirk on his face. His clothes were rumpled as though he’d slept in them. He was slim, built more like Redden than Cid, so much less imposing than Redden remembered. He still looked young, despite the stark white hair he kept cut close to his scalp. “My boys!” he said, oozing charm. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“It should hardly be a surprise. Father Ladimer said he wrote you six letters,” Redden spat, forgetting, at the sight of that smirk, his promise to himself to hold his temper. Cid gripped his arm warningly, but Redden couldn’t make his tone respectful. “You haven’t deigned to answer one of them.”

Lord Carmine chuckled. “Yes, and look what it’s got me! You’re finally home for a visit!”

“This isn’t our home,” Redden growled. “You saw to that.”

“Leave it,” Cid whispered, pulling Redden back a step. He had never understood Redden’s anger toward their father for sending them away. Naturally, the sons of Titan had to be raised among the high families. That had been Lord Carmine’s line back then, and Cid had bought it. Even if Redden struggled with his faith in the prophecy, Cid still believed. To Lord Carmine, he said, “We’re only here for the white mage.”

“Yes, I read the letters,” Lord Carmine said, leaning casually on the banister as he looked down at them. “Though I fail to see why you had to come all the way out here for one. Not that I don’t love having you, but it seems to me you’ve a whole cathedral of them to choose from in town.”

“If you’ve read the letters, you know why,” Redden said. “Only a descendant of the founders can work the spell.”

Lord Carmine scoffed. “The rumors out of Melmond say you’ve killed the others, the last one little more than an apprentice. I’ve a duty to protect my subjects, you understand. Why should I let her go?”

A woman’s voice drifted down the stairs. “Probably because it isn’t your choice.”

Redden saw his father stiffen. “I thought I told you to wait in your room.”

“So you did,” said the woman, descending. “But Sarda said I should come down.” She stopped on the step above Lord Carmine, towering over him. She was tall, taller than he was, and willow-thin, though she looked only a few years older than Redden. Her black hair hung loose to the cinched waist of her red dress.

“This is none of your concern,” Lord Carmine said.

“Sarda says otherwise.”

She took another step, but Lord Carmine grabbed her elbow. “I’ll not be gainsaid in my own house by some rambling madman!”

She looked down at the hand that held her arm, dark eyes fierce, and when she turned that same expression onto Lord Carmine, he let her go. “That ‘madman’ is my brother, sir. And we are your guests.”

_More than that,_ Redden thought as she came down the stairs to stand in front of him and Cid, to look them over with those hard, angry eyes that were unlike the eyes of any other white mage Redden had ever known. It was only one of the many reasons the cathedral had sent her away.

She focused her gaze on Redden. “Scarlet Carmine. But I assume you knew that.”

“Yes,” said Redden.

She smiled, but it was a hollow smile, almost cruel, with no joy in it at all - their father’s smile. “Well, shall I call you ‘brother’?”

Redden scowled. “I would prefer you didn’t.”

* * *

_Melmond, Present Day_

In the late afternoon, Jack walked with Lena through the west gate toward the manor, their two guards trailing behind them. They’d had a full day together. After tea, they’d dropped in on Seward, who was delighted to see them but was on his way to other appointments. The portly lord had sent them to the harbor with a hastily penned letter of introduction to Lord Hanlin, one of the harbor masters. Hanlin’s ships had sailed far before the seas became unstable, and his men had a habit of bringing him souvenirs of a most unusual nature: a bug collection that filled his home and that he was more than happy to share with visitors.

“I had no idea there were so many butterflies in the world,” Lena said as they walked. “Seeing them all laid out in those cases! The colors!”

Jack nodded. “The butterflies were impressive.” He felt so… so normal, so ordinary, without the aether pounding at him. A normal man walking down the road with his lady. He could almost pretend he was, could almost relax into the joyful simplicity of it, if not for the fact that they were both mages in a city hostile to mages, or for the lingering threat of the Brotherhood and the possibility of a dark mage spy in Leiden’s household. He didn’t know if Lena had been told about that. He’d thought to warn her, but the guards hadn’t been out of earshot once that whole day, and he couldn’t bring himself to whisper such a thing in her ear, not when she seemed to be having such a good time. She held to Jack’s arm, smiling and laughing as she talked. Jack couldn’t stop looking at her, furtive glances - at least, he hoped they weren’t too obvious. He had missed her. Gods, he had missed her. Had she missed him?

He couldn’t be sure. Throughout the day, she had spent as much time chatting with the men who accompanied them as she had with him. While he’d been hiding in his room these past few days, she’d been slowly winning over their guards: greeting them whenever she saw them, remembering their names, inquiring after their families. They were practically friends now. She cheerfully looked over her shoulder at the pair who followed them. “What did you like best, Corporal?”

The bulky Corporal Clyne rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, seeming embarrassed to be addressed. “Don’t know, miss. All of it together, I suppose.”

“Shows commitment,” their other guard said, the daydreamer. “That Hanlin knows what he likes.”

Lena nodded. “The whole collection was amazing! Wasps and grasshoppers and cicadas! Hanlin could open a museum! How about you, Hector? What did you like?”

“Me? Well… I suppose… I liked the display with the bugs that looked like other things, leaves and sticks and flowers.”  

“My goodness, yes!” Lena said, giggling. “That stick insect was as big as my arm! It makes you wonder what else could be out there! It could be right in front of us, and we’ve no idea!”

A laugh rose in Jack’s throat but he choked it down, picturing himself as a dark mage stick insect hiding in plain sight.

Lena turned her smile back to him. “Was that funny?”

“Yes,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow at him, still smiling, and the way she rubbed his arm with her hand as they walked made him weak in the knees. “What was your favorite part?”

“Other than your company?” he asked, pleased to hear her laugh. He thought for a moment. “I rather liked that beetle.”

“The shiny one? The one with the horn?”

“Yes.”

She giggled. “It was certainly unusual. What did you like about it?”

He shrugged. “Butterflies are _supposed_ to be beautiful. But a beetle? No one expects beauty from them, and yet it rivaled any emerald I’ve ever seen.” _Like your eyes,_ he thought, though he didn’t dare say that out loud.

They parted when they reached the house, each of them off to dress for dinner, with Lena heading toward Ruby’s quarters. Miss Leiden seemed to delight in choosing Lena’s clothes, like dressing a doll. Jack went to his own room to change, though he didn’t see how it mattered what he wore when he was sure everyone would be looking at his face. As much as he would have preferred to eat alone in his room again, he couldn’t avoid the Leidens forever.

Or perhaps he could have? Apart from a warm welcome from Kane and a smile from Lena, no one else seemed to care when he took a seat between his two friends. Orin and Thad were out, Kane said. Redden sat across the table, beside Leiden, but didn’t acknowledge Jack when he arrived. The Leidens, meanwhile, seemed deep in a discussion amongst themselves, despite how they sat at opposite ends of the long table with their guests along either side.

It was the first night circumstances had allowed Jack to have dinner with the Leidens. He’d joined them for breakfast twice before his self-imposed isolation and thought he had an idea of what the family was like when they were at home, but he’d been wrong.

Leiden himself was different. While Jack had seen the man conduct business over the morning meal, it seemed he did not do so over dinner. He talked more, conversing with his children, seeming to take a genuine interest in their lives. Jack listened, pleased that he was largely ignored as he ate.

“No, I’m sure of this one,” Leiden said to Ruby. “He’s from the Reach originally, displaced by the Rot. But he came with a letter of reference from Lord Quincey himself.”

Ruby looked dubious. “I doubt that Lord Quincey knows the first thing about gardening - no offense, Gabriel.”

“None taken,” said the sergeant, who had been suspiciously quiet up to that moment, lifting his fork in a steady rhythm as though he were in a hurry to finish his plate.

“But,” she went on, “I’ll at least meet with the man.”

Leiden smirked. “Good. I’ll have Gilbert arrange it.” He tucked into his meal, but he watched Sergeant Quincey as he ate. Eventually, he said, “I heard of a room for rent near Talbot’s house.”

The sergeant stopped, fork halfway to his mouth. “On Main?”

Leiden nodded. “It would be closer to the guard house than here. I can write you a reference.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Quincey said, resuming his meal.

There was a moment of tense silence. Jack glanced between Leiden and the sergeant. They’d been fighting. That seemed clear enough. But while Quincey had adopted a stony expression, staring down at his food, Leiden seemed almost sad.

“I don’t see why you’d need your own place!” said Harvey, oblivious to the tension. “And on a guardsman’s salary? If you insist on ceding the townhouse to Logan, why can’t you just stay with us?”

“Harvey,” said Leiden, shaking his head. To Quincey, he said, “Of course, you can stay here as long as you like, Gabriel. You know we’re used to you.”

Quincey didn’t even look up from his plate. “I wouldn’t want to impose on your generosity, my lord.” He polished off the last green bean, set his fork down, wiped his face with his napkin. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, standing and leaving without waiting for Leiden’s permission.

The others soon finished their own meals and likewise excused themselves. Kane and Harvey left together, apparently to hunt down the sergeant. Redden left with Lord Leiden, Leiden speaking quietly about a meeting the next day that he expected Redden to attend. Jack ended up in the parlor with Lena and Ruby. The girls sat at a small table near the door with a well-worn card deck, playing Over Onion Knight, which was apparently considered polite enough for high society provided no gambling took place. The girls invited him to join them, but Jack didn’t know how to play and was too embarrassed to admit his ignorance, particularly with Corporal Clyne hovering nearby taking a keen interest in the game.

Jack sat in one of the plush chairs in the corner and concentrated on the book of high Leifenish grammar Seward had lent him. Along with an extra lamp, a ledger and inkwell rested on a side table close at hand, but he was done with them now - he’d already copied the conjugation charts, noting their differences from standard Leifenish, and he likely wouldn’t look at them again. It was the act of writing the information out that helped it stick in his memory. Now he studied the book, reviewing the same sections he’d already read over and over.

As the evening wore on, he was vaguely aware of Lena’s laughter, but he kept his mind on his work, subconsciously thinking of that other book, the one he’d taken from Astos, that may hold the key to his understanding of dark magic at last if only he could read it. As much as he had enjoyed his day with Lena, he knew the price he’d paid for it - giving in to his dark magic, drawing off of Orin - would break him if he paid it too often. The guilt that gnawed at his belly assured him of that.

He hadn’t noticed Lena’s approach until her hand was on his shoulder. “Jack?” Her smile as she looked down at him was amused. “I hope I didn’t startle you. I was just saying how late it was, but you didn’t seem to hear me.”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he said, looking about the now-shadowed parlor. Most of the lamps had been turned down or extinguished. Ruby was gone, the cards put away. Corporal Clyne waited by the door, ready to escort Jack upstairs to his room. He shut the book and gathered his things, contemplating whether he was tired enough to sleep or if he would continue his studies in bed. He kept the debate to himself and said only, “Shall we?”

She laid her hand on his arm and let him lead her out of the parlor. Clyne fell in several respectful paces behind them. Jack heard voices down the hall, coming closer - Redden and Leiden. Though he tried to step subtly faster toward the stairs to avoid an awkward moment with the bard, he wasn’t fast enough. He’d just made the bottom step when Leiden called, “Still awake, young man?”

Jack stopped, noticing how quickly Lena released his arm and stepped away from him. He knew Leiden didn’t approve of their supposed relationship, but it bothered him that she would care about the man’s opinion. She did it for him, he knew, but it bothered him nevertheless. “Go on without me,” he told her quietly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She didn’t argue, only softly said, “Good night,” and fled up the stairs just slowly enough to still appear dignified at it.

Leiden stopped in front of the stairs, Redden hovering behind him making a sour face that clearly conveyed how worried he was that Jack would say something stupid. It seemed a long time since that night by the campfire when Redden had compared Jack to a clever Melmond folk hero. It hurt.

Leiden’s smile was sharp and almost suspicious. He turned to Clyne and said, “It’s late. What have we been up to this evening, corporal?”

“He was studying, m’lord. In the parlor while the girls practiced their cards.”

Leiden arched an eyebrow at Jack. “What were you studying? Some Leifenish thing?”

“High Leifenish, actually,” Jack told him.

“High Leifenish?” Leiden said, his smile seeming more genuine now, more like Harvey’s. “How unusual! Let’s see it.” He reached for the book.

Behind him, Redden’s eyes flashed, but his voice was calm. “Surely you’re not interested in that old thing, Arthur.”

Jack felt a stab of anger and reflexively locked it away. He knew the cause of Redden’s worry now: the bard honestly believed Jack would have been dumb enough to bring Astos’s spellbook here. _Give me some credit,_ he thought. _I didn’t lose all my wits overnight._ But he may as well have, considering how thoroughly Redden had lost all faith in him. He kept his eyes on Redden as he passed Leiden the book.

“On the contrary,” Leiden said, speaking more to Jack than to Redden. “I’ve always been interested in Leifenish studies. Spent a lot of time with the works of Arcus Monoceros when I was your age. Do you know him?”

Jack nodded. “Of course. I know him well.” He pointed to the book, speaking mostly for Redden’s benefit. “This is far less interesting, I’m afraid. It’s a book on high Leifenish grammar that Lord Unne lent me. I’ve taken an interest lately.” _Not a spellbook,_ Jack thought. When his eyes caught Redden’s again, the bard nodded, somewhat mollified.

“Oh?” said Leiden.  “Not much call for high Leifenish these days. Their culture precedes even the airship age, if I recall correctly? Even the oldest Leifenish texts dismiss it as a trifling obscurity.”

Jack shrugged. “You never know what might be useful someday. As Monoceros said, _‘Uloson nau geisdi uwagudisu cholanu.’_ ”

Leiden chuckled deep in his chest. “ _‘The past can be a window to the future’_? Perhaps. Though if high Leifenish is our window, I suspect we haven’t much of a view. You know, Redden,” he said. “Kane may have your looks, but I think this one reminds me of you more.” He handed the book back, thumping Jack’s shoulder before he turned and continued down the hall past the stairs, motioning for Redden to follow him.

Redden frowned as he walked away.

Jack watched him go, but was startled by the low rumble of Clyne’s voice. “What’d you do?”

“Pardon?” said Jack.

“Your father’s not happy with you. What’d you do?”

Jack sighed. “He thinks I’m weak.”

“Because you were sick? All men get sick.”

“That’s part of it.” He headed up the stairs, but Clyne hurried to catch up, not following him now but walking beside him.

“And the rest of it?”

Jack stopped on the stairs and faced the guard. “Since when are you speaking to me?”

“Since your girl’s been kind to me. It’s the least I can do for her. If _she_ sees something in you, how bad can you be?” It was a lot of words all at once from the big man, but Jack was learning that Lena had that effect on people. “So why’s Lord Carmine mad at you?”

Jack turned and resumed his trek up the stairs. “We had an argument, alright? He said… He thinks if it came down to a fight, I wouldn’t be able to protect Kane. But he’s wrong.”

Clyne didn’t respond to that. When they reached the landing where another guard already stood watch, Clyne stopped and Jack went on alone.

In his room, he found Kane sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, maintaining his gear. He had a cloth in front of him holding a row of tools: a whetstone, some rags, a precariously balanced bottle of oil. He held his leather scabbard across his knees as he oiled it; his sword lay across the foot of the bed like an obedient hound.

“What are you doing here?” Jack said. “I thought you were sleeping down the hall?”

“Only because it was cold in here. If you’re well now, I’d rather have this excellent bed,” said Kane, without looking up from his task. “That is, _if_ you’re well. You _are_ well now, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. He walked to the window, which Kane had opened to the night air, and crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall beside it. “I’m not sure I’m well enough to sleep in the floor, now that you mention it.”

Kane smirked. “I suppose in that case _you_ can sleep down the hall.”

“I may.”

The guardsman chuckled. He set the scabbard on the cloth, stoppered the bottle of oil. “I am glad to see you’re feeling better. I hope… I hope it wasn’t too unpleasant, whatever you had to do.”

Jack turned, looking out the window. “It had to be done.”

“I know you held out as long as you could. If you need to talk…” Kane trailed off.

He could tell him, Jack thought. Kane was his friend, the best he’d ever had. They’d fought together, saved each other’s lives. Surely Kane would understand? “Kane,” he began, “The truth is…”

He turned back to face his friend, but Kane wasn’t looking at him. Kane was staring down at his sword. He had the hilt in one hand, blade pointed carelessly away from him, as he stared transfixed at the aetherite jewel in the pommel, the orb that declared him a Warrior of Light. It gave off a ghostly shine. Kane looked questioningly at Jack, and the reflection from the orb made his brown eyes flicker gold. “Is it just me or is this thing glowing?”

* * *

The man pictured in the Ars Paladia reminded Lena of an older version of Felder: dark hair, dark skin, that same broad nose. Unlike the young pirate though, the man in the illustration wore full plate armor, painted sapphire blue. His sword was taller than he was, and against all possibility he held it raised in one hand as though it weighed nothing. In his other hand, he carried a shield that bore the dragon emblem of the knights of Bahamut. “A-le-gu-za-nu-da,” she whispered, running her finger along the Leifenish caption as she sounded it out. “Oh, _Alexander!_ Yes, of course.” Many of the legends said Alexander, the leader of Bahamut’s knights, had been a man of the Stone Coast where Felder was from. She turned the page, ready to begin translating the story that followed, if she could keep her mind on her task.

She sat at a table in Lord Unne’s library, surrounded by notes and Leifenish dictionaries. They had been there since before breakfast, she and the boys and Lord Orin. The old monk sat behind her in Lord Unne’s stuffed armchair, reading a two-gil novel adaptation of _Bertrand and Odelia_ that Lena suspected was far more risque than the play she had seen. He and Thad had been out late the night before, late enough that Thad had missed his lesson with Jack. When Jack had asked Thad if he could study Syldra’s Tear for the day, Orin had decided it would be educational for Thad to come along.

To Lena’s left, Seward sat with Kane at the table that held his machinist tools, a little machina ship opened up in front of them like a dissected frog as Seward pointed out its workings. A basin of water sat in the floor nearby, ready for a demonstration. She could feel them both so strongly, Kane’s fascination with the subject and Seward’s delight at sharing it.

“So it’s a matter of weight?” Kane was saying, motioning toward one of the cogs.

Seward nodded. “And counterweights, yes. For this device anyway. Now, if you change out these gears…”

She smiled, though she didn’t understand what they were talking about. At least they were talking. She looked to her right, where Jack and Thad worked at another table. Those two said hardly a word, both of them looking through the aether at things she couldn’t see. She could see the glow well enough, the yellow light that shone from the orb affixed to Kane’s sword. Anyone could have seen it. They’d painted over it with shoe polish for the walk through town, but Jack had wiped it off. The sword rested on the table, blade bare, and Jack stood over it, studying it with focused intensity, his eyes glittering blue-green with aether. His face was still uncovered from their morning meal with Seward, and his mouth was pressed into a thin line. He held Syldra’s Tear in one hand; occasionally, a gust of wind moved through the room, ruffling papers.

“Watch it!” Thad said, gathering a few of them up when it happened again. There were no books on that table - there was nothing in Seward’s library for this, the awakening of a long dead piece of aetherite - but there were dozens of loose pages covered in Thad’s looped drawings.

“Sorry,” Jack said absently. “Note that down.”

Lena wasn’t surprised that the boy had learned to draw an aether diagram. His experience with the aether was, so far, entirely academic; she had seen the hours he put into studying the Adept’s Grimoire when they were on the ship. She didn’t know how accurate his diagrams were, but for the most part it had kept Thad from asking endless questions while Jack concentrated on doing… whatever he was doing. Thad grumbled, straightening his stacked papers before reaching for a pen.

“Language, young master Shipman,” Orin said. “If you cannot respect your teachers, you will never learn.”

Thad pursed his lips but the grumbling stopped. He weighed down his papers with an elbow and began sketching. “Can you do it again? I didn’t catch all of it.”

Jack grunted. Lena felt the little breeze stirring the hair at the back of her neck, picking up speed as it went. She neither felt nor saw the aether.

“Right,” said Thad, pen scratching paper. “So you draw the aether _through_ the orb?”

“Correct,” Jack said.

“And then you cast it through the orb again?”

“Yes.” He sounded distant, lost in his own head. She could feel him again, the buzz of his concentration tinged with a frustrated confusion. He leaned both hands on the table, staring intently at the sword, and for a moment the corona in his eyes changed, a deep amber, but nothing happened. He spat a word under his breath.

Orin tutted. “Need I remind you to watch your language as well, master Jack?”

“Sorry,” Jack said, but the buzz of his concentration didn’t waver. He reached across the table to the place where the red orb that had once belonged to his mother waited beside Lena’s own lucky charm in its woven and braided net. His hand hovered over them for a moment in seeming indecision before he picked up the blue one.

She watched as Jack’s eyes turned a brighter blue, as if the corona had magnified his normal shade ten times over, but, again, nothing happened. He growled as he set the blue orb down.

“But it’s the same spell, isn’t it?” said Thad. “Why does it only work on mine?”

Jack frowned, muttering something that was probably inappropriate again, albeit a different word this time. His brow creased in frustration as he picked up Kane’s sword, holding it out in front of him with both hands as if he meant to do battle, the corona once more taking on the hue of the jewel in the hilt.

She watched him a moment longer, with his eyes that interesting shade of gold, before she went back to her own work translating the story, a tale of Alexander crossing a river of poison to face a monster on the other side. She knew many of the legends of the knights of Bahamut, but this one was new to her. She couldn’t tell if the monster was causing the poison river or simply lived near one. Leifenish was such a flowery language, with so many similes and metaphors she had trouble determining if Saronian, the legendary jumping knight, really could jump to the sky or if that was simply a figure of speech. She knew the knights of Bahamut were supposed to be capable of superhuman feats, but the tale of Ffamran - whose illustration had reminded her of an older Thad - had been far more believable.

She stopped when she came to a word she didn’t know and couldn’t find in the Leifenish dictionaries. She turned to Lord Unne for help.  

“And if you’ll tighten that bolt…” Seward was saying. “Excellent! Shall we see what it can do?”

Kane knelt by the water basin, cradling the little ship in his hands, a look of pure, child-like glee on his face. Rather than interrupt, Lena went over and knelt across the basin from him. She watched as he placed the device in the water and it sank the few inches to the bottom. “Oh, no!” she said, giggling. “Not much of a ship, is it?”

“Patience, my dear,” Seward said, bending down and reaching into the water to turn a key on the device. “It isn’t meant to be a ship!”

The machina shuddered, a few tiny bubbles escaping from within, and then it moved, puttering along the bottom of the basin under its own power.

“Wow!” said Thad, startling Lena as he looked over her shoulder for she hadn’t sensed his approach. He went around the basin to kneel between her and Kane. “That’s amazing! Can I play with it?”

Lord Unne chuckled. “That one isn’t a toy, young man. Though I do have others you’re welcome to examine… No, this one is the result of years of work! My brother found the design among the ruins of the Aquapolis when he was a young man. I’ve been fiddling with it ever since.”

“What’s an equipalis?” Thad said.

“Aquapolis,” Seward corrected. “It was a city once, as grand as Old Melmond is said to have been. It sank into the sea centuries ago. A fraction of it remains on land, what would have been considered the lower town, all in ruins. Only a fishing village there now.”

“He means Onlac,” Jack said, coming toward them with Kane’s sword. To Seward, he said, “I keep meaning to tell you that’s where Lena’s from.”

“Truly?” said Seward, eyes bright with interest. “So you’ve seen the ruins firsthand?”

“Oh, um, of course!” she stuttered, flustered by his eagerness. “That is, I don’t know anything about an Aquapolis, but, yes, Onlac’s waters are full of old ruins. I used to go diving there. That’s where I found my… the orb. My lucky charm.” Lena shivered, rubbing her wrist. It felt naked without the bracelet; she couldn’t recall a time she had ever taken it off.

Seward made a pleased sound. “I _must_ have you review my brother’s notes and give me your take on them!”

Jack handed Kane’s weapon back to him. “Did you learn anything?” Kane asked as he slid it into the scabbard.

“Nothing,” said Jack. “I don’t know why it’s glowing, and I don’t know what it means.”

Kane sighed, looking down at the gem that glowed above his hip like a little star. “We’ll need to find something better than shoe polish.”

“I may have some paint,” Seward said.

“Let’s try it, but quickly. I need to go.”

He started to follow Seward across to another worktable, but Jack stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Couldn’t you leave it with me? If I had more time-”

Kane shook his head. “What would I tell people when they notice it’s gone? It’s not as if you and I can trade, and a man would have to be a fool to go about unarmed when people are going missing all over the city.”

Lena almost asked why they couldn’t trade - it seemed a simple solution - but then the rest of what Kane had said sank in. “People are missing?” She knew about the woman at Titan’s Cathedral whose son had disappeared, but she hadn’t heard of any others.

Kane nodded. “One or two a day, according to the rumors. Gabriel’s not talking about it, but I hear things.”

“You hear correctly,” Orin said, still sitting in the armchair. “Be careful as you go about the town, young master Carmine. Do not travel alone.”

“Bentley’s going with me,” Kane said, referring to one of the guards who had accompanied them to Lord Unne’s that morning. They waited in the front parlor with Liza, trying to beat her at Over Onion Knight. “But if we don’t head out soon, Gabriel will send a search party.”

“How did you convince Sergeant Cranky to let you leave the house without him today?” Thad asked.

“Ah, well, that’s… It’s funny you should ask,” Kane said, striding quickly over to where Seward waited with the paint.  As he stepped past, Lena felt his discomfort like a pebble in her shoe. “He said he had some errands to run in town, and I sort of told him if we were to skip training today, I would train twice as hard tomorrow.” He faced Jack, smiling sheepishly. “And that I’d bring you.”

Jack’s eyes widened, still glittering with aether. “You- Wait… Why would you-”

“I’m sorry,” Kane said quickly. “It’s just that my father and his brother were supposed to be a legendary team. Everyone’s dying to see how we measure up.”

“But Jack can barely use a sword!” said Thad.

“I know!” Kane said, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I’ve told them as much. He’s supposed to be a scholar, isn’t he? But they won’t rest until they’ve seen for themselves!”

Jack closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You perfect idiot,” he said.

“Look, it’s one practice fight, just so everyone can see how lousy we are together. I’ll make it up to you. I swear.” Kane watched as Seward rubbed a bit of rust colored paint over the shining yellow orb. It was enough to dull the glow.

“Hey, can I train with you guys tomorrow?” Thad asked, still kneeling in the floor beside Lena and the water basin.

“You’re too little,” Kane said.

“I am not!” Thad whined. “I’m big enough to be a Warrior of Light!”

“You’re just a kid, Shipman. These aren’t pirates and thieves we’re talking about. These are professional soldiers. You aren’t old enough to train with them.”

The boy pouted, turning back to the little machina ship. “At least I don’t have gray hairs like you do!” he muttered just loud enough to be heard.

He’d struck a nerve with that one. Lena felt it hit Kane like a bucket of ice water to his face. “What did you say?” he snapped. “I don’t have- I do not!” His hand went to his hair.

“Hmm, no, the boy’s right,” Seward said, looking at Kane as he stood up straight. He pointed. “Definitely some white coming in just there.”

Kane blanched.

Seward laughed. “Oh, do calm down! Nothing wrong with gray hairs! Some women find them distinguished. Isn’t that true, my dear?”

Lena struggled not to laugh as Kane looked at her with wide, desperate eyes. It wasn’t funny, she told herself. She could feel his distress. “Yes, of course! Just look at your father, for example. Around Cornelia, Lord Redden is considered very handsome.”

If anything, Kane’s horror only increased. “I have to go,” he said, stepping toward the door.

“Wait!” Seward called. “I’ll see you out!”

Thad chuckled as the door closed behind them; he reached down to wind up the little ship again. “That was great,” he said.

Lena sighed. “Oh dear. I should have known better than to bring his father into it.”

“He deserved worse,” Jack said. “What was he thinking, committing me to a sword fight? Did he learn nothing the first time?” He reached down to help her up. “Do you mind if we stay longer? I’d like to keep looking at the other orbs.”

“I don’t mind,” she said. “I have plenty of work to keep me occupied, learning to read Leifenish. Actually, I was going to ask Seward, but would you help me with this word?” She pulled him by the hand toward the table where she’d left her book.

He read the word she pointed out to him and then his eyes widened again. “‘Malboro’?”

“Yes, I couldn’t find it in the dictionaries. You know it?”

The mage picked up the Ars Paladia, a stunned look on his face as if he’d been struck by lightning. His eyes, still glowing as the corona faded, flicked across the pages, skimming their contents. Lena couldn’t feel his emotions, but after he rapidly flipped ahead in the book, his face lit with an endearingly lopsided smile. “I know this one. My father told me this story… I… I had forgotten…” He set the book on the table once more, open to a different illustration, one of Alexander fighting a hideous green monster, all teeth and tentacles and hundreds of eyes. “ _That_ is a malboro.”

“The creature? Oh! That makes sense! I assumed from context that it was some sort of poison.” She caught herself staring at his smile, but he didn’t notice, focused on the book as he was, and she looked away. “I’ve never heard of a malboro before. In fact, I thought I knew all the tales of the knights of Bahamut, but this book is the first place I’ve seen this story.”

Jack flipped back a few pages and then forward again. “I’ve never found it anywhere else, not in any of the books I’ve studied. I looked once, some years ago, when I realized I couldn’t remember what my father looked like. I just wanted something to remind me of him.” His hand trailed lightly over the monster in the picture. “I wondered if he had made it up - or if I’d dreamed the whole thing.”

She wanted to ask him about it - how he had lost his parents, how old he had been. She’d known he was young when it happened, but if he’d been young enough to forget his father… Still, she knew if she asked him, that smile on his face would vanish before she ever finished the question.

He was still smiling when he went back to studying the orbs a few minutes later. He seemed less flustered than he had before, happily answering Thad’s questions with full, lecturing sentences rather than monosyllabic replies. Seward came back and sat with Orin, discussing literature.

She worked her way through her own book, consulting the dictionaries often, scrawling her amateur translation over several messy pages before she came at last to an aether diagram and the description of the spell Alexander had used to cross the poisonous landscape that surrounded the malboro’s lair.

“Ga-nuh-hi-seh,” she said, sounding out the spell’s name. She found it in the first dictionary she checked. She carefully copied the diagram onto a fresh page and above it, in bold letters, she wrote, “ _Float.”_

* * *

Redden sat at the long gleaming table in Arthur’s office. He still thought of it as Westen’s office, though the man had been dead nearly twenty years. “I’m not asking for every little detail of your affairs, Arthur,” he said as he sat back in one of the posh leather chairs and crossed his arms. “I’m only saying I can’t be much help to you if I don’t have all the facts.”

Arthur and his secretary, Lord Pollendina, exchanged skeptical glances. They sat across from him, Arthur in his white shirt and Pollendina in his black one, looking like a pair of mismatched bookends. Arthur shook his blond head. “It wasn’t anything you needed to know until now.”

“Bollocks,” Redden snapped. “What good does it do me to know about them now, _after_ they’ve been stolen? If you’d told me before, I could have warded them, Vanished them, smuggled them away on my ship! Now you’ve twelve cases of healing potion gone from under your noses and bugger all I can do about it. Why did you even have such a thing?”

Arthur wouldn’t look at him, only stared down at the pile of reports beneath his steepled hands on the table in front of him. “Again, that’s nothing you need to know.”

Redden pushed back from the table and paced to the window, as though his temper were getting the better of him, but it was only an act. He had known about the potions of course, but he couldn’t let them know that, not without confessing that he had stolen Arthur’s warded file from this very room, or that the Shipman boy had seen the potions through his aether sight. He still didn’t know what the potions were for. He angled himself toward the window, but his eyes were fixed on the gold-framed mirror on the wall opposite. “How do you know it was the Brotherhood?” he asked.

He could see them in the mirror, could see Arthur looking to Pollendina before answering, could see the secretary shaking his head. “We have our reasons,” Arthur said.

“I’ll bet you have,” Redden muttered. Though the secretary had said nothing during this little interview, Redden doubted he was anything like as subservient as he seemed. If what Orin said was true, Pollendina was some manner of mage. He likely _had_ warded the potions, meaning whoever stole them was a mage as well. A mage who would now be harder to kill. He turned to face the Melmond lords again. “If you’re right, then you’ll have to face the facts: they’re not restricting themselves to the lower town anymore. This makes three incidents on Farplane Avenue. You’ll need to start moving part of your investigation team uptown.”

Pollendina scoffed, speaking for the first time. “I hardly think that’s necessary.”

“I didn’t ask you,” said Redden. “You wanted my help with this, Arthur. I’m helping. If you won’t take my advice, why am I here?”

There was a sharp rap at the door. It sprang open as a guard rushed in, leaving it gaping behind him. The guard bowed low, but his face and his bearing betrayed a giddy excitement. “Begging your pardon, Lord Leiden, but-”

“This had better be important, constable!” Arthur said brusquely.

The guard hesitated, seeming only then to realize he had burst in on their meeting.

“What’s seems to be the trouble, Hector?” Pollendina asked calmly.

“No trouble, my lord. It’s just…” The guard glanced quickly toward Redden and away again. “It’s the Carmine boys. Some kind of demonstration.”

“For Titan’s sake!” Redden said. He looked out the window, which faced the training yard. A crowd gathered at the fence, not just guards but servants and civilians as well. He could see Kane heading toward the equipment shed with the taller figure of Jack beside him.

Pollendina sighed, annoyed. “That hardly seems like a worthy reason to come barrelling in-”

“Thank you, constable,” Arthur said, interrupting the secretary. “We’ll be right out.” He stood, gathering the stack of reports and hitting it against the table to straighten it. He tucked the papers into a file, placed the file under his arm, and stepped around the table toward the door.

“My lord, the potions-” Pollendina said.

“Are long gone already,” said Arthur. “A few minute’s diversion will hardly impact the investigation, not when your own inspectors are already on the case.” He looked at Redden, smiling sharply. “Come, old friend. I must admit I’ve been curious about what your boys can do.”

* * *

Lena knew Jack was nervous. He didn’t pace or fret like other men might have done, but his movements as he put on the padded leather armor were jittery and clumsy. She sat on a bench in the equipment shed as Jack and Kane got ready for what she had believed, until she’d seen the mass of people outside, to be a simple training match.

“It still _is_ a simple training match,” Kane said, putting on his own armor, adjusting the straps at his wrists and waist. “Just because everyone else is making a big deal of it-”

“How did I let you talk me into this?” Jack snapped, the interruption betraying his nerves more than his level tone of voice had done.

“It’s no different from training on the ship.”

“We didn’t have an audience on the ship!” Jack said, low and seething. He fretted with the straps, his fingers fumbling over the buckles.

Lena stood, knocking over the boys’ swords which they’d left on the bench beside her, and she went to him, pushing his hands out of the way so she could tighten the straps herself. His gloves were cool to the touch. He startled when she reached up to press the back of her hand against his forehead. “You’re all clammy,” she said. “Are you getting sick again? Are you sure you’re well enough for this?”

“I’m not sick!” he said, tilting his face back, away from her hand. She busied herself with the buckles again.

The door sprang open as Thadius burst in from searching for Lord Orin. Jack turned to the boy, eyes hopeful. “Did you find him?”

Thad shook his head. “He’s not here. I think he must have gone to town. I checked everywhere.”

Jack moaned, flopping onto the bench so that Lena had to chase after him to finish the last buckle.

“Look, it’s not as if he could have done anything to help you win the match,” Kane said. He stood near a rack of blunted steel practice swords, picking up one dull blade after another, testing the weight of each. He pulled one out and swung it in a slow, experimental arc. “We’ve what? Ten minutes to prepare? I doubt he has any secret monk techniques he could have passed on to you in that time. You’re worrying about this more than you should.” His voice and manner were calm, soothing, somewhat apologetic, but Lena could feel frustration dripping off of him like a summer rain.

The rain escalated to a downpour when Jack said, “I’ve already wrecked your father’s reputation enough just by being here! How do you think he’s going to feel when my shoddy swordwork becomes the talk of the town?”

Kane whirled on him, pointing with the practice sword. “He doesn’t keep you around for your swordwork! If he doesn’t remember that, that’s not on you! You didn’t save Pravoka with swordwork, alright? You didn’t find Eldarin’s crown with swordwork! I’ve seen what you can do! _Father’s_ seen what you can do! So unless you have some kind of potion that makes you a better swordsman or you think you can scry your way out of this, we’re going to go out there and get our asses handed to us and that will be the end of it!” He turned and paced away.

Jack sat quietly, shoulders hunched. Lena felt a cloud of misery from him, like a puff of acrid smoke. From behind her, she heard Thadius say, “Couldn’t you?”

“Couldn’t we what?” Kane snarled.

“Scry your way out of this?” Thad said.

Kane scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Shipman. I was only making a point.” He hadn’t seen Jack sit up a little straighter, face stunned as if someone had struck him between the eyes. When he did look back, his brows drew together. “Right, Jack?”

“Actually…” Jack said.

“No,” Kane said, pointing an accusing finger. “Absolutely not!”

* * *

Outside, the air was moist without being muggy - that would come later, when the sun rose higher. A few guards dressed in padded leather armor practiced sword drills on one end of the yard, but most of the onlookers were gathered by the fence on the east side, keeping the morning sun behind them. The crowd murmured cheerfully.

“Is that him? The son of Titan?” a young woman asked when Redden passed her.

“I thought the tall one was only a scholar?” a man’s voice said, and another answered, “Surely he’s just being modest. He carries his father’s sword.”

From more than one voice, Redden heard, “Do you think they’re as good as their father?” and he cursed. The onlookers were in for a disappointing show, all of them. He and Cid had done great things together, with the rumors - all exaggerations - saying they could defeat fifty men between them, but they had also fought together for years to achieve the unity they were famous for. Kane and Jack had known each other a matter of weeks.

They followed the excited guard who had burst into Arthur’s office, threading their way through to the front of the crowd. The guard went straight to the hulking Corporal Clyne and said a few words then disappeared among his fellows. Sergeant Quincey was there as well, along with Captain Merrill, the man in charge of the guards assigned to the house. The captain greeted them with a dutiful, “Good morning, my lords.”

“Captain,” said Arthur, smiling amiably. “Quite the event you have here. What brought this on?”

“Only a practice match, my lord. The men have blown it out of proportion, that’s all.”

Arthur laughed. “Do you mean to tell me the Carmine brothers won’t be facing twenty men at once?”

Merrill only smirked. “We’ll see how they fare against two, to start with.”

It was clear which two he meant. Quincey and Clyne stood together, heads close, hashing out some manner of strategy. Quincey spoke quickly. Clyne nodded as he adjusted the straps of his leathers.

The volume of the murmuring crowd increased. Redden looked toward the equipment shed, where Kane and Jack had just emerged, striding toward the center of the training area. As the other practicing guards cleared the field, Thad and Lena walked from the shed around the perimeter of the yard, following the fence. Thad carried Kane’s sword while Lena carried Redden’s, as if the boys had set them aside for the match. Redden knew Jack had another reason for keeping the magic blade near. He saw Jack shudder, as if he had a chill despite the thick padding and the building heat of another Melmond morning.  

Thad and Lena stopped when they came to the place where Redden stood just as Sergeant Quincey and Corporal Clyne headed into the yard. Lena called, “Please go easy on him, Corporal!”

Clyne looked back and said, “Afraid I can’t do that, miss.” He looked at Redden, nodded in a sort of greeting, then stomped off toward Kane and Jack.

The crowd hooted and cheered when one of the older guards, the designated officiator, stepped onto the field and raised a hand high over his head. “Fighters ready?” he called.

The four of them squared off. Redden’s eyes flicked to his sword in Lena’s arms as he calculated the distance between it and the mage, wondering how close to it Jack had to be to make use of its focus spells.

The officiator looked toward Captain Merrill. Merrill nodded. The hand dropped.

* * *

Thad gripped Kane’s sword in both hands, cheering along with everyone else, itching for a good fight. He wanted his friends to win, of course, but given the circumstances he’d decided he’d be happy with them at least not losing right away. He’d seen Kane win a number of fights, but Thad had also seen Jack lose four sparring matches in five. Against Thad himself.

That Sergeant Cranky was no slouch either. He and Clyne rushed forward, their strategy immediately apparent as both of them focused on a single target: Kane. Completely ignored, Jack stood stupidly with his sword out in front of him, long enough that people began to laugh, but as the larger man moved around to come at Kane from behind, Jack moved in, blocking Clyne’s overhead strike. Their swords met with a hollow clang that made Thad and several of the other spectators flinch. Thad felt the force of the blow vibrating through the sword he held.

Kane was immediately locked into combat with Quincey, who it seemed was not only his match in size but in skill as well. The dull metal blades rang as they struck, a musical rhythm as each man moved with the grace and speed of a dancer. Kane didn’t even react as Jack bumped against him, the two fighting back to back now.

Behind Kane, a far less graceful match took place. Jack and Clyne were of similar height, but the corporal was nearly twice Jack’s size. Each slow swing of the big man’s blade rattled Jack’s slender frame as he blocked it. If even one of those blows got through, Thad didn’t think the padded armor would be enough, but the mage blocked every attack.

_It’s working!_ Thad thought. He watched the battle through his aether sight, but he couldn’t see what he knew Jack was seeing: reading the aether in such a way that he could see far enough into the future, only fractions of a second, to make a difference in the fight. The big man’s aura would move before he did, enough that Jack could predict his strikes. The aether swirled around the fighters as their blades moved through it. It swirled around the crowd that surrounded the yard, around Thad.

The crowd gasped, pulling Thad’s attention back to the fight. The corporal swung high, roaring as he brought the blade down. Jack brought his own sword up at an angle to intercept it, knocking the strike sideways into the dirt, leaving the big man off balance. Clyne’s side was completely exposed. _Get him, Jack!_ Thad thought, but Clyne pulled back and the moment was lost.

Thad groaned, along with a fair portion of the crowd.

* * *

“They make a good team,” Arthur said. “Kane is clearly better, but Jack’s holding his own. In fact, I think he might be toying with the corporal...”

Redden laughed, hoping Arthur didn’t pick up on his discomfort.

He had expected Jack to lose by now, but the boy was quick. Redden hadn’t realized he was so quick - he blocked every attack, each of them - but blocking seemed all he was capable of: he never struck back, even when he had what looked to Redden to be a clear opening.

It happened again and again. Opening after opening passed him by, as if the boy hadn’t seen them. _What is he doing?_ Redden thought. How could he possibly have learned to defend himself - in only a matter of days - without learning to attack as well?

“What in Titan’s name is he waiting for?” Arthur asked.

* * *

Kane blocked another strike, barely. Quincey hadn’t made it past his guard yet, but it was a near thing. In all their sparring these past few days, he’d never seen the sergeant fight like this. “You’ve been holding back on me.”

“So have you, lordling,” Quincey said through a tight-jawed grin. “Tired already? Am I working you too hard?”

Kane pushed back with his sword, lashing out with his elbow for good measure. “I could do this all day.”

“Good!” Quincey came at him again, feinting high before curving his sword in from the side. “So could I.” Strike, block. “So could Clyne.” Strike, block.

_An opening!_ Kane swung his sword to the right, but just then Jack bumped into him again, hard this time, as if he’d been thrown. The strike went wide.

Quincey’s grin sharpened. “How long can your brother keep up, do you think?”

* * *

Jack nearly lost his footing. If Kane hadn’t been behind him, he would have. Gods, but Clyne hit hard. Jack’s arms ached all the way to his shoulders, through them, into his back, his chest. This wasn’t working! Reading the aether was no substitute for skill. It told Jack where the big man would go, where his own sword needed to be. It could not, of course, tell him when to strike back.

Worse yet, reading the aether was exhausting. Reading _the future_ in the aether, even the imminent future, was exhausting on a scale Jack hadn’t been prepared for. But reading the aether without drawing on it? He couldn’t last much longer.

As hard as Clyne’s sword hit his own, the aether slammed into his soul’s defenses, pushing and pushing. It was like fighting two opponents at once, the huge guard in front of him and the hollow within.

The hollow won first. His guard broke like thin ice on a warm winter morning. The aether surged into him and through him. He felt the corona building behind his eyes and squeezed them shut before anyone could see it. His aether sight afforded him a perfect view of Clyne’s next full-bodied swing as it slammed into his shoulder, throwing him sideways.

Even as he fell, he fought for calm, fought to steady his breathing, to force the aether away before it could manifest as ice and cold there in front of Lord Leiden and an army of Melmond soldiers. He heard the crowd cry out as he hit the ground hard, as the blunted steel practice sword slipped from his hands. He heard Lena call his name, and he sent his senses toward her, toward the sword she carried. The aether made a clear path to the weapon, and he followed it, desperately grasping for the focus spells.

Only after he’d wrapped his mind around it did he realize he’d gone for the wrong sword.

* * *

Lena hid her eyes when Jack went down. “Oh! I can’t watch!” she said.

But Thad couldn’t stop watching. Something was wrong. The aether had gone wild. He could see it. He could _feel_ it. When Jack hit the ground, the aether quaked, the footsteps of a giant, and it didn’t stop. The aether… hummed. It buzzed. It vibrated like a cicada on a branch. He watched through his aether sight, watched it pulse and move. It wasn’t doing it everywhere. It was only doing it around him.

More specifically, around the weapon in his hands.

* * *

Jack fell, and Redden hissed in sympathy. Even with the padding on, the boy would be feeling that blow for days. He landed roughly, not even catching himself with his hands, and didn’t move again.

Clyne went for Kane then, striking at his unprotected back, but Kane stepped swiftly to the side, dodging. Perhaps he’d sensed that Jack was no longer behind him, perhaps he’d heard it in the crowd’s reaction. He stood in front of the fallen Jack now, facing both of the Melmond men at once. He slipped into the same ready stance Cid had always favored, sword up, feet firmly planted.

Both men moved against him. This was the end!

And then Redden felt the aether stir.

On the field, the earth shifted. Clyne seemed to trip, bumping into Quincey just as the sergeant began his attack. Quincey’s sword came in too high, so that Kane’s blade hit one of the man’s hands as he blocked. Quincey cried out, dropping his weapon. Kane moved then, ramming his shoulder against Clyne, who had yet to recover his balance. The big man fell against the disarmed Quincey and both men went down.

Kane stood over them, sword aimed at Clyne’s throat. It was over.

The crowd went silent, and why wouldn’t they? That was magic. Redden knew it was magic. Surely everyone knew? It seemed so obvious to him. But then one man cheered, and another, and soon the whole lot were clapping and shouting.

Even Arthur clapped. “An excellent match!” the Lord of Melmond said, laughing. “Best I’ve seen in years. I’m so glad we came out for it.”

Beside him, Pollendina clapped, but only half-heartedly, as though the whole affair bored him.

They hadn’t noticed? No one had noticed? Pollendina was supposed to be a mage. Surely, if Redden had felt it, he must have as well? But the brooding secretary seemed entirely uninterested.

In the yard, Kane tossed his practice sword down, freeing his hands to drag Jack up by the back of his collar, like an errant cat. Jack stumbled along, eyes closed, as Kane hauled him toward the equipment shed. Lena excused herself and ran after them, cutting across the training yard with Thad close on her heels.

“Your scholar’s good, Lord Carmine,” Captain Merrill said, inclining his head respectfully. “I didn’t expect that.” The corporal walked toward them just then, and the captain clapped his shoulder as he added, “He could have had Clyne a dozen times there.”

“But he didn’t,” Pollendina pointed out. “A bit sloppy, that. Almost like he didn’t know how to attack.” His words were uncomfortably similar to Redden’s own thoughts.

Arthur scoffed. “Sloppy? No! Nobody that good can be that bad. Perhaps he was making a point. What are your thoughts, corporal?”

Clyne shrugged. “I think he was more concerned with protecting his brother than winning the match.” He looked Redden in the eye.

“Yes!” Arthur said, laughing. “That’s it! That’s exactly right! Very like how Redden used to watch Cid’s back. That’s what it reminded me of! It’s clear he needs more training, but he fought well. So determined!”

Pollendina rolled his eyes. “Yes, quite. But perhaps now we can return to more important business?”

Arthur nodded. “It’s past time we did. My, but that took longer than I thought it would. Redden?”

“I’ll be right in,” he told them. “I’m just going to speak with the boys first.”

He slipped through the fence, heading toward the equipment shed. Arthur called after him, telling him not to take long. The crowd began to disperse, moods high, except for the guards who still had to put in their own work training this morning. Men were going in and out of the shed, grabbing equipment.

What would he say? Redden wondered. He couldn’t discipline them, not with so many witnesses. How would it look if he dragged them away by their ears when it seemed to everyone else like they’d had a resounding victory? _Just wait until I get them alone!_ he thought.

When he reached the shed, bumping into a few guards coming out, they seemed confused. Looking inside, he saw the reason. Jack sat on one of the benches, shoulders hunched, eyes closed - concealing a corona, Redden knew - as Kane stood over him. Kane gestured wildly with his hands as spoke, the way he did when he argued. Lena stood between them, hands up, trying to make peace, while Thad stood nervously off to the side.

_He didn’t know either,_ Redden thought. Jack had acted on his own. And clearly Kane didn’t approve. _As well he shouldn’t. It was an unnecessary risk._

He turned and went back to the house. He would speak with Jack later. Now wasn’t the time.

* * *

“And then Kane knocked into the big guy, like this,” Thad said, demonstrating with his shoulder. They walked through the lower town, and they were almost the only people on this street. “And he fell on Sergeant Cranky, and Kane had his sword out, like this.” He struck what he imagined was a heroic-looking pose. It had looked heroic when Kane did it. “It was amazing, Orin! I wish you could have seen it!”

“I wish I had as well,” Orin said. “Had I been there, I could have advised master Jack against such frivolous uses of magic.”

Thad nodded. He’d heard much the same from Kane. “Kane said they were supposed to have their asses handed to them,” he remarked.

“Language,” Orin said. “But, yes, I can see how that would have been a preferable alternative.”

Thad had been with Lena, eating a late picnic-style breakfast on the manor’s wide, covered porch when the old monk had turned up. Thad was glad to see him, for he’d thought he’d have to spend another unproductive day attempting magic in the hedge maze. That was Lena’s plan, and there was no one else for Thad to spend time with. Kane had gone off somewhere with Harvey after the young Leiden woke up. Jack had gone back to bed after the match, exhausted from reading the aether and nearly too sore to move. Lena wanted to heal him, but Jack said people would notice if he recovered too quickly. Thad suspected the real reason was that Jack felt he deserved some sort of punishment. Thad hadn’t understood Kane and Jack’s argument after the fight, but he had at least picked up on the fact that Jack had not done magic on purpose. It had been an accident, and the black mage was terribly sorry about it.

Thad splashed in a mud puddle - it hadn’t rained, but the streets were always muddy here - and he watched the aether billow and twist at the movement. He’d left the aether sight up after the fight. Jack said it was exhausting, but Thad felt fine. Perhaps it was only reading the aether that was tiring, or reading the future. He still didn’t know how to read it, could do nothing more than watch the riot of misty light float up and settle over everything, like disturbed silt at the bottom of a pond.

Though the street was mostly empty now, it was full of aether - full of _life,_ Thad knew - which told him that it was sometimes busy, perhaps would be busy later. There were places in cities that were only busy at night. His father had frequented places like that. He didn’t want to think of his father. “Where are we going?” he asked.

Orin shuffled along beside him, leaning on a cane. He was limping less today. “Another person went missing last night. We are investigating.”

“We are?” Thad said. “Why? Do you think it’s the dark mages?”

Orin shook his head. “Inspector Lamontagne asked me to. As a favor. The inspectors are occupied this morning with other matters. But it is a suspicious case, perhaps magical in nature: a young man, drunk with his friends. He went into an alley to relieve himself. He did not come out again.”

They stopped at a building with darkened windows - Thad couldn’t tell if it was a house or a shop - and Orin knocked on the door. A tired-looking woman answered, and after a few words from Orin, she nodded and pointed them toward a narrow gap between two buildings across the street. It was full of trash, and mostly dark, shaded by the dilapidated buildings on either side. It stank.

“This is the place,” Orin said, striding in.

Thad wrinkled his nose and followed, but not too far in, hovering close to the alley mouth where it was brighter. There were no doors in the narrow alley, no windows. The walls were too high for most people to climb. A gate of iron bars closed off the other side, locked in three places with a heavy chain, a dead end. If someone entered this alley, there was no other way they could have gone than back the way they came.  

Orin tottered along, poking bits of rubbish with his cane. The aether curled after him, and as Thad watched it, he realized there was a lot of it around, more than there should have been in a dead-end alley. The aether accumulated in places frequented by people, high traffic areas like markets and taverns, not in out of the way corners where drunks went to pee.

Braver now, he stepped deeper into the alley, kicking a broken bottle that skittered ahead of him, spattering shiny drops behind like liquid moonbeams. The moon drops faded into the ground, leaving wet circles behind. “Orin!” Thad said, bending to pick up the bottle. “This… I think this had healing potion in it!”

“Suspicious,” Orin said. “The potions stored at the Chocobo were stolen recently.”

“What? When?”

“Recently,” Orin repeated. “Do you see any more?”

He looked deeper into the shadows, past the shadows, through his aether sight, reminding himself that he no longer had to be afraid of the dark. The aether glowed in his vision, a layer of light over everything, brighter where Orin stood, where he himself stood…

And against the wall to his left.

“There’s someone there!” he cried, just as the bright aether spot surged forward, knocking into him as it barrelled away. Orin caught him, held him up, but then his feet were sturdy under him and Thad was running.  

Orin called after him, “No! Come back!”

He didn’t stop. The aether blur crossed the street, zipping into another alley. Thad scrambled after it. He heard Orin call, “Thadius!” but the old man’s voice was already distant.

The Vanished figure ran, crossing streets, circling buildings, but Thad kept it in sight. He was almost upon it, could almost reach out and grab it, when he stumbled. He felt it then, all at once: the fatigue Jack had warned him about, a bone weary tiredness. His lungs ached, out of breath. _I shouldn’t be out of breath!_ he thought, indignant. _I’ve barely started!_

The figure went left, toward a cross street, then zagged right at the last moment. Thad skidded to a stop, losing sight of it for an instant. _Don’t lose it!_ he thought, finding it again, concentrating so hard on getting his legs turned the right way, on making them move. _Don’t lose it!_

The figure turned another corner before he’d caught up with it.

_No! I’m faster than this, dammit! Move!_ Focused, driving his body forward, he felt something else, a shift. Something relaxed, some part of him moved forward, ahead of his uncooperative feet, and the white-hot light of the aether flared into brilliant color.

He could see it: the fleeing figure far beyond what he could have seen with his eyes, half a block ahead of him around another corner, and the aura trail leading out from behind it, a clear path for him to follow.

_I’m doing it! I’m reading the aether!_ he thought, and that happy thought gave his legs a boost. _I’m doing it!_

He hurried on. The aura - the orange of a painted sunset, of a low campfire - led him right to the figure, running down another alley, slower now and panting. He caught up to it and tackled it to the ground. A glass shattered, and a bloom of aether opened up all over the figure as a potion spilled everywhere.

The figure was small, not a grown up. When it spoke to Thad, it spoke with the voice of a child, one he recognized. “Alright, already! No more! You win! I’m sorry! Get up before we cut ourselves!”

Thad cocked his head sitting up carefully amidst the glass. “Noah?”

“Yes, it’s me! For Titan’s sake! You didn’t know that when you started chasing me? How dumb are you? I could have been a thief or a murderer for all you know!”

Thad sat back on his heels, confused. “You still might be...” he said, doubtfully. “We found you at the scene of a crime…”

“I didn’t commit any crimes!” Noah squeaked.

“You’re covered in stolen healing potion right now!” Thad pressed. If he concentrated, he could almost make out Noah’s face in the aura, a watery orange blur as though he were looking at the other boy through a bottle of rum.

“Stolen?” Noah gasped. “Stolen? I brewed that potion myself, thank you very much! And _you_ wasted it! If anyone’s guilty of a crime here, it’s you!”

“You brewed…” Thad said, trailing off as realization dawned. Noah’s familiarity with the cathedral and the herb garden, brewing healing potions, the fact that he was Vanished. “You’re a white mage? But I thought all the white mages had died! You said so yourself!”

“They did,” the other boy said. “All except one lousy apprentice!”

“But you’re nothing like a white mage!” Thad said.

“That’s because I’m no good at it!” The aether shifted, and suddenly Noah was there in front of him, no longer invisible. He looked sad. “I can’t even hold a decent Vanish!”

“You looked pretty Vanished to me…”

Noah frowned. “They sent me home, alright? The mages sent me home! They said I wasn’t cut out for the life of a white mage! They wouldn’t even let me swear the Oath! So I… I just… I went home! And I thought about going back, asking them to give me another chance, but…”

“But then they were all dead?” Thad said.

Noah nodded.

Thad pushed to his feet. He heard Orin call his name, a frantic, worried call. He raised his voice and answered, “Over here!”

The old man came running, a crooked gait. He’d lost his cane somewhere. “Thadius!” he said again, and the relief on his face made Thad feel terrible for running off without him. Until the monk grabbed him by his ear. “How could you make an old man worry so?”

“No, wait!” Thad squealed. “Listen! Orin! He’s a-”

Orin sighed. Though his grip remained firm, his voice was calm. “I do not care if he is your long lost brother, young master Shipman! You do not go tearing off on your own!”

“Excuse me?” Noah said.

“I will be with you momentarily, young man,” Orin said.

“But you were looking for that man who went missing last night, weren’t you?”

Orin let go and Thad stepped away, out of range in case the old man hadn’t meant to. “We were,” the monk said, flashing his walnut smile. “Do you know where he went?”

“Not really,” Noah said. “But I think it has something to do with the night plague.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _9/1/17: In the original Final Fantasy game, Leifenish doesn’t come up until much later. Your heroes get a Rosetta Stone item which suddenly allows them to understand the language. Oh, how I wish languages worked that way._   
>  _When I was younger, I studied foreign languages for fun. It started when, as a child, I read The Hobbit for the first time. Back then, I was fond of cryptoquote puzzles, where each letter is a substitute for another letter, and I discovered (through thorough investigation) that the map at the front of Tolkien’s book really said what Elrond told the dwarves it said. I spent years delving into the elvish languages in Lord of the Rings, moving into real languages from there._   
>  _As a teenager I discovered that Final Fantasy 2 and 3 were actually 4 and 6, that there were Final Fantasy titles in Japan that we didn’t have in North America. I spent perhaps two years with a tattered Japanese dictionary and bootleg copies of 2 and 3, slowly playing my way through them, grinding out levels when I just couldn’t stand to look up words anymore. Every stat on every character was maxed by the time I finished. (The PlayStation port of 5 was released in North America in English around the time I finished high school, so such measures were unnecessary for that title.)_   
>  _In college, I took several linguistics and language classes. I always thought I’d be doing something language-related for a living – translating or interpreting somewhere. That didn’t happen. There weren’t even enough linguistics/language classes at my small university for me to major in it. But sometimes, I still watch movies with the foreign audio on and the English subtitles off, or I get a cheap dictionary and read a foreign book. Or I write a story with lots of references to language studies in it._


	44. Mysteries Abound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: Mysteries Abound from Final Fantasy XIII. Click[here](https://youtu.be/EE9rHgE8UrA) for the original on a thirty-minute loop._

_The Earth Cave, Twenty-four Years Ago_

The air was cold and smelled of ice, a sharp, crisp scent layered over the Rot. It stung Redden’s nose as he breathed it in. It stung his lungs more. The sight of the old mine stung as well, but in a different way.

“So this is it?” Scarlet said when they were looking down on it from the top of the hill.

Behind them, Cid was already barking orders to the men to set camp and prepare a meal, but Redden was never expected to help with that. Cid and the others seemed to think he needed time to mentally prepare himself for the ritual ahead. They weren’t wrong.

“I know it doesn’t look sinister,” Redden said.

“No,” Scarlet agreed. A wind tugged her white hood down; she pulled it back up. “But I feel it. It’s not right.”

_There’s a wrongness there,_ Father Bram had said. That had been nearly a year ago, but Redden still remembered the old white mage’s low, gentle voice.

Scarlet went on, “What happens now? We wait for dark?”

“Moonrise,” Redden said. “But the moon will be up early tonight. We won’t have long to wait.” It was the middle of winter, though the longest night was past. They’d set out from Melmond when it was still dark that morning and walked through the short day. The sun was low in the sky now.

Scarlet nodded. She slipped her pack from her shoulders to her hand, letting it swing at her side as she walked back into the campsite. She nodded to Cid as she passed him, and he nodded back. Redden had been surprised at first that the two of them got along, but Scarlet had made it clear from the outset that she wasn’t interested in their father’s affection. Scarlet didn’t care for anyone, except for Sarda.

The madman sat cross-legged on the bare earth, chattering happily at Arthur as the boy laid wood for a fire. A few of the men going about their own chores looked sideways at him, the way his mage’s robe hiked up around his knees - he wasn’t wearing any pants today - but Arthur only looked amused. Redden caught the end of Sarda’s tirade. “The whale loves the moon,” he was saying, motioning with ink-stained hands. “Because the moon is like water, but it rains monsters instead of rain. And whales catch them up in their sieve of teeth like the little creatures that live underwater.”

“That’s enough, brother,” Scarlet said. She smiled, a real smile, and she was almost lovely when she did, enough that Redden wondered if the cathedral had been right to turn her away. _She loves herself too much,_ they’d told him. He wondered how the white mages could consider that such a crime when it was clear she loved her brother more.

“Oh, but I haven’t got to the part with the witches!” Sarda said, brimming with excitement.

“You can tell the boy on the way home,” she said. “He has things to do now.”

“Not a boy!” Sarda said. “This is Arthur! He’s a very important man!”

“I’ve told you I’m not,” Arthur said, chuckling.

Sarda reached out to pat the boy’s knee. “You will be.” He sat up straight suddenly, snapping his fingers as though something had just occurred to him. “That man with the handkerchief! He has to tell the blond woman he loves her, before it’s too late! I have to let him know!” He stood, flashing himself at all of them before his robe fell into place.

Scarlet rolled her eyes, but the smile remained. “Young man, I’m sure you’ve better things to do than babysit my brother.”

“I don’t mind, miss,” Arthur said. “I’m used to it. He’s a bit like my great-uncle. That is, if my uncle were a few decades younger.” Sarda and Scarlet were only a little older than Redden, twenty-four or twenty-five years old. He hadn’t asked. Arthur’s smile slipped away. “He… um… he seems to know things. He asked me about my dog, the one I had as a boy. He knew its name.”

Scarlet nodded. “He does know things. He’s a black mage,” she explained. “Technically a black mage. He can’t draw the aether, but he sees it. Sees the past and the future in it. He seems to forget how to see the present sometimes.” Arthur frowned, and she hastened to add, “Don’t worry. He’s harmless.”

“I’m not worried about that, miss - about him being a black mage, as you say. But if that’s the way of it, then… Do the things he says come to pass?”

She laughed as though Arthur had said something foolish. “Why? Did he tell you something you wish were true? Did he say you’d be a great lord someday, or that you’d find true love?” The boy blushed. “Oh, you needn’t be embarrassed by it. He does tell some very pretty stories. He tells me I’ll fall hopelessly in love with a dark-haired boy, one who makes flowers grow in the Rot. He says Titan’s Cathedral will remember my name for generations and that they’ll rue the day they ever tossed me out. Pretty stories, all. But he also tells the story of the moon whale - often! - and he speaks of a rabbit in a cave that will give you a new name if you find it. I doubt there’s any truth in those tales.”

Arthur nodded, but he seemed sad.

Scarlet sighed. “He isn’t always like this. It comes and it goes, but it’s worse now than it was.” She turned toward the edge of the camp on the side farthest from the Rot. “I’m going to review the ritual one last time,” she said.

“I’ll come with you,” Redden said.

“No, you won’t.” She stepped away without looking back.

“Are you sure she’s a white mage?” Arthur asked, watching her go.

“She can do white magic,” Redden said, for it was the truth. When they’d practiced together, he’d seen her perform the spell as well as Bram had done, better than any other white mage who had made this journey with him before. He actually believed they could pull it off this time, cast it well enough and deep enough to end the Rot once and for all. But he agreed with the cathedral on one point at least: It pained him to think how much more someone as powerful as Scarlet could achieve if only she cared about people.

Later, as Redden sat alone by the fire, the other men eating dinner or preparing their gear, Sarda came and sat beside him. “I thought you should eat something,” the madman said, handing him a bowl of broth with a hard biscuit soaking in it. His knees were showing again; Redden wondered how he wasn’t freezing.

“Thank you,” Redden said. He sipped at the broth, careful not to tip the biscuit into his face.

They were silent together by the fire for a moment, until Sarda said, “You’re like me.”

“What?”

Sarda waved toward the bowl. “I like to leave the biscuit until last. Scarlet says it’s barbaric. ‘You’re meant to eat them together,’ she says. Argumentative woman.”

Redden chuckled. “That’s what Cid always says.”

“He’s argumentative, too. I can tell. I think if we weren’t meant to be related, those two would have been friends,” said Sarda. Redden watched his face, but he seemed normal as he looked into the fire. Sarda caught him staring. “You’re thinking I seem remarkably lucid for someone without pants on.”

“Yes, actually,” Redden said. “You were spouting nonsense less than an hour ago.”

“Nonsense?” Sarda said, feigning indignation. “I’ll have you know everything I said made perfect sense from where I was sitting!”

“Forgive me,” Redden said, smiling as he sipped his broth. He noted the man’s hand, the left one, smudged with ink on one side as though he’d rested it carelessly against a fresh page. “Do you write?” he asked, motioning toward it.

Sarda looked down at the hand. “Draw, actually. Sometimes the only way to explain what I see in the aether is to show it.”

Redden picked at the sopping biscuit, breaking off a piece and popping it into his mouth to stop himself from asking the question he wanted to ask, worried it was rude or intrusive.

“It’s a mirror, but the reflection’s not really there,” Sarda said.

Redden chewed his food, wondering if the man had gone loopy again in the space of one bite.

Sarda laughed. “You’re wondering what it’s like. I’m trying to tell you. I, uh, forget that people need to hear the questions before they answer them.” Though he was darker than Redden, with tanned skin and black hair like his sister’s, in the firelight, with that half-smile on his face, the resemblance to Lord Carmine was striking. “But picture a mirror. Everyone has one. You see the present in it, your world reflected back at you. But my mirror… mine’s not a mirror at all. It’s a window. Clear glass. Sometimes I see my reflection in it, if I look hard enough. But who wants to look at their reflection when they could look through it and admire the view instead?”

“You mean the future?” Redden asked.

Sarda nodded. “And the past. Sometimes one’s prettier than the other. History can sound like a bedtime story. Prophecy can sound like a poem.”

At the mention of prophecies, Redden thought of his own, the Founders’ Prophecy. He couldn’t help it. The sons of Titan would be reborn of Melmond nobility to heal the rifts and restore the city to the glory it held in the days of the founders… _Is it me? Is it talking about me? About Cid? Or did our father lie? Is it all a lie?_ He didn’t know which possibility frightened him more.

He looked up to find Sarda watching him in the firelight. Though the madman couldn’t draw the aether, there was a subtle glint of it in his eyes; all black mages had that, if you knew what you were looking for. Those eyes were full of pity. Sarda said, “I could tell you… The thing you’re afraid to ask. But it won’t matter. Stories and poems both can be rewritten, if a man is creative enough.”

Redden’s heart sank. Lord Gaian Carmine was a very creative man.

Sarda patted his shoulder. “I was talking about you. Write your own history. Or your own prophecy. Sod everyone else.”

“Redden.” They both turned at the sound of Cid’s voice, and Redden saw his brother standing just on the edge of the camp with the moon rising behind him. “Come on. It’s time.”

* * *

_Melmond Manor, Present Day_

“Yes, but _then_ what happened?” Lena snapped, impatiently waving a pair of garden snips to hurry his narrative along.

Thad fidgeted in frustration. He’d already gone through it all as fast as he could. “That was it. We followed Noah to his house, and Orin looked at the sick girl. Can you hurry up?” They were alone in the garden now, just the two of them, as Lena continued to menace the plants. Thad wanted to get her into town before anyone thought to talk her out of it.

“The time for hurrying was yesterday!” she grumbled as she cut off a few more specimens of big, pink mallow flowers. “You should have sent for me! You know they say the second night is critical for night plague victims!” She shoved the flowers into her basket with the others. Thad knew they were all healing herbs, but anyone else might have taken them for a bright, mismatched bouquet, all pinks and whites and yellows in different shapes and sizes. “Can you tell me anything else? Was she pale? Was she lucid? Did she have a fever? Did she describe her symptoms?”

Thad shrugged. “Orin made me wait in the hall. All I know is she was asleep.”

“Asleep or unconscious?” Lena asked.

Thad rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. I’m not a white mage!”

“Exactly! You’re not! Orin’s not! I am!” Lena said, punctuating each statement with the snips, cutting off more flowers. “Why didn’t he send for me?”

Thad shrugged again. Truth be told, Orin’s behavior had been a mystery to Thad as well. All the rumors said the night plague was rarely fatal if the victim lived through the second night, but the old man hadn’t sent for Lena. Instead, he and Thad had spent the night at Noah’s house. Thad had slept on the floor of Noah’s tiny attic bedroom; the monk had kept vigil over the sick young woman. When they had returned to the manor that morning, Orin had gone straight to bed. Thad knew Jack was waiting for the old man to wake up, and he suspected the black mage wouldn’t approve of Thad pulling Lena into the investigations.

Just then, Thad saw movement at the garden’s arched entrance and, as if his thoughts had summoned them, both Orin and Jack came in. “Great!” Thad said, throwing his hands up. “Now we’ll never get out of here!”

Lena turned. “Jack! What are you doing out of bed? I thought you were unwell today?”

Jack strode determinedly toward them, his yellow scarf all bunched up in places as though he’d dressed in a hurry. Corporal Clyne was hot on his heels, but Orin trailed some way behind them, limping again and leaning heavily on a walking stick; another of Jack’s ever-present guards walked with him, a hand on his elbow to keep him steady. The guard helped Orin take a seat on the edge of the fountain.

Jack didn’t stop until he was in front of Lena. He glared at Thad a moment, then focused on her. “Orin said I’d find you two together. My lady, I-” He stopped abruptly and turned to Corporal Clyne, looming over his shoulder. “Would you give us some space, already?”

The big man didn’t budge. “It’s the full moon today. His lordship says I’m not to let you out of my sight.”

Jack motioned at the plants around them, raising his voice. “It’s a walled garden, Nicholas! Where am I going to go?”

“Corporal,” Lena said, “we only need a moment.”

Clyne looked between them, considering, then he nodded and headed back toward the entrance, waving the other guard ahead of him. When they were through the archway, out of earshot, Lena smiled weakly. “I’m glad to see the two of you getting along.”

“We’ve come to an uneasy peace,” Jack said. He looked between Lena and Thad, then his eyes homed in on Lena’s basket and his frown deepened so much that it was visible even through the layers of his disheveled scarf. Jack knew about potions, of course; he would know exactly what Lena was planning based on what he saw there.

Thad turned to Orin. “You told him! Why’d you have to tell him?”

“If we cannot be honest with our friends, we are no better than our enemies,” Orin said.

“We have enemies enough in this city.” Jack’s tone was serious. “Let Lord Redden handle this.”

“Lord Redden isn’t a white mage,” Lena said.

“No, he’s a red mage,” Jack said, nodding. “And the whole of Melmond knows it. If anyone discovered what _you_ are-”

“I’ll be careful,” said Lena.

Thad smiled. Maybe he’d been wrong. Lena could be stubborn when she made up her mind to be. Maybe she wouldn’t be as easily swayed from their plans as he’d feared.

But then Jack took a deep breath and said, “Don’t go. I’m begging you, please don’t go,” looking at Lena with sad, pathetic eyes. Thad knew that look - he himself had perfected that look on his grandmother.

Lena sighed. “I have to go. I can’t just leave a victim of the night plague untreated. If it spreads-”

“It could spread to you as easily as anyone else. The night plague is supposed to be deadly to white mages. Please!”

“The person who told us about it is a white mage and he’s fine,” Thad said.

Jack  glared at him. “You stay out of this. You’ve said enough.”

“Jack! There’s no need to be short with him!” Lena said, clearly struggling to hold her patience. “Besides, disease doesn’t work that way. There’s no way it can be more deadly to white mages than to everyone else - we’re not another species!”

“Yeah!” said Thad. “Kane and Redden both think it’s not a plague at all. Kane thinks it’s something the Brotherhood cooked up to cover their tracks. It’s connected to the missing people!”

Jack looked down at him through narrowed eyes. “Is that what they say?” He turned to Lena again. “And what did Lord Redden say when you told him you were heading off to investigate this fake plague?”

Lena blushed, stuttering. “I didn’t… That is, I haven’t…”

“Because you know he’d stop you!” Jack said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Lena-”

“Oh, don’t do that!” she said, interrupting him, shrugging him off. “You only ever call me by my name when you’re cross with me! Did you realize? It makes me feel like a naughty child!”

Jack stopped, confusion in his eyes. “Not… not cross. I’m never cross with you. I will admit to occasionally being utterly mystified by you. I don’t understand why you would intentionally endanger yourself like this. My lady… Lena… I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

Lena looked down at her feet, a shy half-smile stealing over her face. Thad sighed. He knew she couldn’t stay angry at Jack. If the black mage asked her again not to go, she would give in. He _knew_ he should have hurried her along.  

“This is really important to you, isn’t it?” Jack said quietly. He reached up to straighten his scarf then let out a long sigh. “Fine. But I’m going with you.”

“You can’t!” Thad said. “You’ll never be able to slip away from your guards!”

Jack arched an eyebrow at him. “You think so?” He turned to Orin behind them where he sat on the edge of the fountain. “Lord Orin, might I have a private word with you?”

Orin nodded, rising slowly, and together the two of them went deeper into the garden, though Orin did throw Thad an unreadable look over his shoulder. Thad wondered if the old man was disappointed in him for telling Lena where they’d been. Lena went back to cutting flowers, though with less vigor than she’d had before.

“Do you really need all those?” Thad asked. “Isn’t that way more than you need for a potion?”

“I might,” Lena said, shrugging. “I don’t know what kind of potion I might need to make. I’d rather have everything, just in case.”

Thad started to ask how many kinds of potion Lena could make, but then he felt the aether move. He called up the aether sight, but when he looked towards the disturbance, whatever it was had passed. He saw only Jack, coming back alone. “Did you cast a spell just now?” Thad asked.

Jack ignored him, speaking to Lena. “Wait for me on Main Street, by the pastry shop with the blue shutters. I’ll meet you there. _Don’t_ go to the lower town without me. Promise.”

Lena nodded. “I promise.”

Jack left through the archway, and Thad could see Clyne and the other guard joining him as he headed toward the house. A moment later, Orin came back, his movements shaky. He sat on the edge of the fountain again. “Miss Lena, perhaps you could spare a Cure for an old man?”

Lena, who had been watching Jack leave, looked over at him and gasped. “Of course, Orin! Are you alright?”

“Only a long night, and another in store, I suspect.”

She went to him, set her basket down, and touched him with glowing hands. Thad watched the way the aether moved through her and into him, the way Orin’s dark green soul drank it up greedily. The Cure subsided, and Lena stood looking over the monk. “If… If you need us to go later…”

“That will not be necessary,” Orin said. “I need only rest a moment before we go on. Pick your herbs, but quickly. We have tarried long enough.”

* * *

It wasn’t sneaking, not really. At least, that’s what Lena told herself as she walked with Thadius and Lord Orin. The three of them practically sauntered out of the manor; the guards at the door and posted around the yard didn’t bat an eye. Still, it seemed so dishonest. By the time they reached the West Gate into Melmond, her nerves were unravelling. “Oh, I don’t like this!” she said. “It seems wrong!”

Lord Orin chuckled. “What could be wrong? We are simply three friends out for a stroll.”

She kept looking behind her, down the road toward the manor, but there was no sign of Jack.

“Keep your eyes forward, Miss Lena,” Orin admonished. As they entered town, he smiled and nodded at a few passerby who ignored him so completely that it was clearly intentional. Orin was dressed plainly, perhaps too plainly for this part of town. The west gate was near the business district, and the well-dressed people here seemed busy with urgent affairs, with no time to spare for the old man tottering slowly along with his cane.

Thadius didn’t seem bothered by the pace, bouncing and catching a rubber ball in the street as he followed along. On his back he carried the satchel where Lena had stored her herbs, and on his head he wore a cap that was too large for him. Lena had never seen the hat before and wondered if he had stolen it.

She looked back again, but Orin put his arm through hers and pulled her around the corner that led to Main Street. “I must insist you stop looking over your shoulder,” he said. “You will draw the gate guards’ attention if you seem worried about pursuit.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not accustomed to sneaking about.”

Orin chuckled, smiling so broadly that his eyes seemed squeezed shut. “Who is sneaking? We are not sneaking.”

True, the house guards weren’t interested in her - she could come and go about the manor as she pleased - but the boys were another matter altogether. So many people had gone missing in the past few days that Leiden had insisted that Jack and Kane and Harvey remain under guard wherever they went. Though she was pleased Jack had offered to accompany her to the lower town - she did feel safer with him - she couldn’t let the guards see her doing white magic. Even if she had befriended most of them, she couldn’t be sure their friendship extended that far.

They came to the shop where Jack had told them to wait. As they positioned themselves in front of the alley between it and the next building, Lena looked back the way they came, watching. She wondered how long they would be waiting. Jack was neither stealthy nor swift. She wondered if the gate guards would recognize him, his tall figure and his scarf-covered face, and if they would stop him when he arrived. “What if he wasn’t able to get away?” she asked.

Orin shrugged. “Then we will proceed to the lower town without him.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Lena screamed before she could stop herself. She recognized Jack’s voice, but she hadn’t expected to hear it from behind her.  

His hands were on her shoulders, squeezing reassuringly, and when she craned her neck to get a good look at him, to assure herself that it was indeed him, she saw that her reaction had startled him as much as he had startled her. “I’m so sorry!” he said, his voice breathy with alarm. “I didn’t mean to frighten you!”

“Where did you come from?” she asked.

He hiked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing farther into town.

“Ahead of us? How? You were still at the manor when we left!” She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Her heart was still hammering, and her voice sounded shrill to her ears.

He shifted his feet guiltily, like a child caught stealing plums from the pudding. “ I, uh, I Teleported. It was the only thing I could think of.”

She took another breath, forcing herself to hold it a moment, and let it out slowly. “Oh,” she said, more steadily. “I never would have thought of that.” She should have, she realized. She knew he was capable of the spell - both Kane and Thad had told her about it after Elfheim - but the very nature of it was so out of the ordinary that it had never crossed her mind. Disappearing from one place and reappearing somewhere else entirely? That was the stuff of children’s tales! But still, what had she expected? She tried to picture Jack climbing out a window as Kane had done, or quietly ducking behind the furniture as Thad often did, and the thought was so preposterous that she laughed. That wasn’t Jack’s way.

Her laughter didn’t soothe his look of unease, that pinched expression around his eyes. She gave him a quick hug then stepped back again. “I’m alright. You just surprised me.”  

He nodded and his eyes relaxed somewhat, but when she took his arm, she could feel the tension in it, how tight and stiff those lean muscles were beneath his gray linen sleeve.

The two of them followed Orin and Thad deeper into the city, a straight course into the area known as the lower town. The streets were muddier here, the buildings more crowded together. It was a bit like Cornelia’s lower town, now that she thought about it. The architecture was different, and Cornelia’s streets were stone, but the bars on the windows, the shabby shops, the man running a shell game on the corner, none of it would have seemed out of place there.  

Thad ran ahead, still playing with that rubber ball, chasing after it when the unlevel street sent it bouncing away from him. Orin called him back, moving a little faster, as fast as his cane would allow, but when Lena would have hurried her pace as well, she found that Jack wasn’t paying attention. He was looking around at the lower town much as she had been, his steps slow.

She cleared her throat to get his attention, and his eyes flicked over to her, noticed her staring. “Is something wrong, my lady?”

She giggled. “I could ask you the same thing. What are you worried about?”

He raised an eyebrow at her - just one. “I thought you couldn’t read my emotions?”

“I can’t,” she said, shrugging. “Not usually. But I can read your face well enough, even when you do keep half of it covered. When you’re worried, you get a little line…” She pointed to the space between her eyebrows. “Just there.”

He made a sound that was unmistakably a “harumph”.  “I still think this is a bad idea. The...” He spoke quietly, eyes roving up and down the street as though he worried someone else might be listening. “The Brotherhood are out here somewhere. They strike on the full moon. Tonight.”

“Yes,” Lena said, nodding. “Tonight. Not during the day. It’s broad daylight, Jack, the middle of the afternoon. We’ll be back at the manor well before dinner, let alone sunset.”

“Even so, I would feel better about this situation if you would agree to visit the patient tomorrow instead.”

Lena shook her head. “This disease only lasts for two days. If we go tomorrow, the woman might be fully recovered and I won’t be able to learn anything.”

“You won’t be able to catch it either,” Jack muttered, but not so quietly that she couldn’t hear him.

“It… It does frighten me,” she said. “But I also know how frightening it can be when someone is sick. If that woman has friends or family waiting at her bedside, if she’s hurting and wondering if it will ever stop… I can help. I have to help. But I am scared.”

He nodded, but that line between his eyes only deepened. She found she could feel his worry now, perhaps because she knew it was there or perhaps because he was no longer working to keep it hidden from her. Whatever the reason, she didn’t try to block it out, instead assuming from experience that he would pull it back himself in a minute or so.

She could still feel him when they passed a street vendor selling palm-sized meat pies for a gil, could feel the flood of longing starting in Jack’s stomach and surging out from there. “You’re hungry,” she said, not bothering to ask. “When did you last eat?”

“...Breakfast,” he said quietly after a long hesitation, and then, quieter still, he added, “yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Lena exclaimed. “A full day ago?” She half-dragged him back toward the pie seller, not even stopping to consider if she had brought enough coin. “Will you take Cornelian money?” she asked the man.  

The vendor shrugged. “If that’s what you’ve got.”

“My lady!” Jack protested. “You don’t need to-”

“Two, please,” Lena said. “No, three.”

The man passed the pies over, each wrapped in a square of thin paper. Lena made a little stack of them then said to Jack, “Come on, Orin’s waiting for us.” When they’d left the vendor behind, she held one of the pies out for the black mage. “You eat this. All of it. Right now.”

He looked down at the food then around him at the people in the street. “If… if I show my face, it will attract attention.” His voice sounded dry and cracking. She could feel his embarrassment, and she would have relented had his stomach not loudly rumbled at just that moment.

“Not as much attention as I’m going to attract if you don’t eat,” she told him. “You’re still recovering from your… your ailment.” She hadn’t pried into whatever it was with the aether that troubled him, that problem he’d said he’d had since birth, but she knew it was why he’d felt poorly that morning. She wondered now if his aetherial struggles weren’t perhaps connected to his physical well-being. “You have to take better care of yourself.”

He took the pie, but they’d walked several more steps before he pulled his yellow scarf down just enough to expose his mouth. Though the pie was small enough to eat with one hand, he held it with two, right up by his face like a squirrel, hiding himself as much as he could. Though she knew how hungry he was, he ate slowly, and with such meticulous self-control she lost that sense of him, of his emotions, that she had been feeling.

When they caught up with the others, Lena handed Thad one of the pies. Orin declined the other, as she’d known he would. She tried a bite of it herself, and it tasted as good as it smelled, but she wasn’t terribly hungry. When Jack finished his pie, she gave him the rest of hers. He took it without a word, eating it just as slowly as he had the first one.

He nearly choked on the last bite when Orin said, “This is the place.”

They’d stopped up the street from a large, ramshackle building with a sagging roof. It had two floors, and two front doors, one on top of the other, with the second one opening onto a balcony with a wrought-iron railing that stretched across the front of the house. All of the windows were dark, covered from the inside by heavy curtains. Heavy _red_ curtains.

Jack coughed, looking up at the building, and Lena could feel his embarrassment rising fast and fresh. “You hadn’t mentioned that the victim lived in a house of ill repute,” he said.

“What does that mean?” Thad asked.

“We will talk about it another time,” said Orin, patting his head. “This will not be a problem for you, Miss Lena?”

“It’s fine,” she said, though she could feel herself blushing. “These people need healing too.”

Orin nodded. “Come. Mrs. Gainsborough is expecting us.”

He motioned Lena ahead of him, but she’d only gone a few steps when a voice down the street called, “Lord Orin?”

“Ah, Inspector Lamontagne! How pleasant it is to see you again!” The monk turned and shuffled off toward the inspector, a man in his thirties in a black and gray uniform. Two other guards stood with him.

“Act natural!” Thad said, before zipping off after Orin.

_Act natural?_ Lena thought. What was the natural way to act when one was caught visiting a brothel in the middle of the day? Lena stared after the boy, but then Jack stepped in, cutting off her view of Thad, Orin, and the uniformed men. He kept his back to them all, put an arm around her shoulders, and pushed her gently forward. “Keep walking,” he said quietly. “I don’t think the guards realize we were with them.”

She nodded, but she glanced back. “One of them’s looking at us.”

Jack grumbled a short Leifenish word. “I wasn’t fast enough. I think he saw me.” His hand drifted up to cover his face, still exposed from his hasty meal.

“What should we do?” she asked. “If he drags you back to the manor and tells Lord Redden he found you at a brothel…!”

“He won’t,” Jack said. “The inspectors don’t work at the house. He might send a messenger, but he won’t bother with me himself. Just keep walking.”

She looked back again. The guard was still watching them, though Thad was doing his best to distract the man.

“Stop looking at him,” Jack whispered.

She whipped her head forward again. The door was right in front them now, only a few steps away. “We can’t go in there while he’s watching, Jack! What if you’re wrong? What if he wonders what we’re doing here? What if he follows us? If they find the night plague victim… or the little white mage who lives here-”

“Lena,” Jack sighed. “Believe me: he’s not going to wonder why we’re here. There’s only one reason anyone ever visits a brothel. I think at this point it would be more suspicious if we walked away.”

“But we could come back later,” she said.

He shook his head. “I can’t do another Teleport. It’s not an easy spell.”

She started to look back again - she couldn’t help it - but Jack reached his other arm around her and pulled her in close. “Stop looking,” he said. “You came all this way, my lady. Don’t back down now.” He bent his forehead to hers and murmured, “Though I must admit this isn’t how I imagined my day would go.”

She laughed, but it was forced. Her heart was beating so hard she worried he would feel it, as close as he was. “I don’t think anyone’s imagination is that vivid,” she said.

He whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“For wh-”

He stopped her with a kiss. His lips were smooth and gentle, but they covered her mouth and lingered there. She could feel his arms around her, his hands against her back. It lasted so long, but not long enough before he broke away, grasping her arm and pulling her through the door.

* * *

Inside, out of the sunlight and away from prying eyes, he let Lena go. He found a wall and he leaned on it. Around him, the aether raged. _No, no, no… Not here. Not now. Not while she’s watching… It shouldn’t be doing this!_ He’d just drawn from Orin, hadn’t he? Little more than an hour ago? He’d spent most of it on the Teleport, but that shouldn’t matter - using black magic didn’t seem to affect the hollow once it had been filled.

When he calmed down - marginally, for his heart was still racing from the kiss - he was able to see that he was right about that, at least: the surging aether remained on the outside. In fact, a quick glance through his aether sight showed that the aether wasn’t raging, wasn’t actually moving at all, no more than normally. The problem was him: the urge to draw the aether was too strong. Every current, every slightest stir of it felt as heavy as a landslide as he struggled to push it away. _It’s me. It’s been me all this time. How could I not know?_

It felt like hours later when he regained control, but it could only have been moments. Lena was staring at him, wide-eyed. What should he say? The only thing that immediately came to mind was to apologize again. “M-my lady,” he began. “I, I’m…” _Damn this nervous stutter._ He took a breath and tried again. “I’m sorry. Oh, gods…”

“It’s alright,” she said, but she sounded flustered.

“It isn’t. I wasn’t thinking,” he said, though he _had_ thought of it many times. He hoped she couldn’t feel his guilt. “I’m so sorry. I should have asked your permission. That was-”

“You have it.”

He stopped. “What?”

She looked at her feet as she stood there with her flushed face and her red lips. “I… I mean to say, if it should happen again… It was all a show for those guards, wasn’t it? I know you’re uncomfortable pretending, Jack. Please, don’t worry on my account. I don’t mind... if it’s you.”

His mouth had gone too dry to speak. He ran the words through his head, but they made no sense. Permission to kiss her? The aether pressed on him again as he tried to comprehend it, and again he struggled for control. How long had he gone without drawing from Orin? Three days? _That’s not very long,_ he thought. But then again, he hadn’t drawn much - only enough to get by. And Orin seemed fine. If he were to draw more...

A woman’s voice said, “How long are you planning to wait in the entryway?”

He’d drawn the aether before he realized he’d done it, held it ready though it was immediately clear the woman wasn’t a threat. He knew she must be the woman Orin had met before, Noah’s mother, for she was just as Orin had described her. A doughy woman of average height, all soft curves and long, wavy hair, she stood with her arms crossed as she watched them from beside a darkened doorway farther down the hall.

Lena stepped forward, putting herself between Jack and the woman, and he knew she did it to set the woman’s mind at ease - he could feel the corona in his eyes, knew that was why the woman was looking at him nervously. “Are you Mrs. Gainsborough?” Lena asked.

The woman nodded. “Sure, and I been waiting half the day for you, girl. But the old monk didn’t mention the black mage…”

“He’s my friend,” Lena said.

“Yes, I saw how friendly he was. Saw it through the window.”  

Jack looked at Lena, but Lena looked at the floor. As red as her face was, he knew by the burning in his cheeks that his own must be ten times worse. He busied himself with getting his scarf back in place.

Lena cleared her throat. “Your son… he’s a white mage? Can I speak with him?”

Mrs. Gainsborough narrowed her eyes. “Thought you was coming to heal the girl?”

“Yes, I will! I’d just... I’d like to talk to him.”

“Well, he wouldn’t like to talk to you. It’s your kind what tossed him out of that church.”

The woman spoke harshly, angrily, and Jack could see the hurt on Lena’s face. “Hey,” he cut in sharply. “We’re not from that ‘church’. We’re here to help.”

“Sorry,” Mrs. Gainsborough said, sounding more angry than contrite. “You’re right, and I do appreciate you being here for the girl. It’s just that you didn’t have to see how heartbroken my boy was. He wanted to learn the healing so bad.”

“I understand,” Lena said. “You’ve a right to be angry - any mother would be.”

Mrs. Gainsborough nodded, seeming mollified. “Well, at any rate, he ain’t here. Left when he heard you might be coming.” She turned down the hall, motioning for them to follow. “Best come along before that inspector decides to come in and have a chat with your young man.”

She led them through the house, up a set of narrow, creaky stairs, down a hallway to the room where the night plague victim lay. The room was small, with only a bed, a stool, and a short chest of drawers. A woman, one of the house’s other residents, sat on the stool, mending a dress and keeping an eye on the younger woman who slept in the bed.

“Give us a bit, Constance,” Mrs. Gainsborough said.

The woman on the stool nodded and left. Jack kept a hand on Lena’s arm, holding her back until the other woman was gone. He didn’t know if she knew what Lena was. The door had scarcely closed behind the woman before Lena was at the sick girl’s bedside, hands glowing as she examined her patient.

Mrs. Gainsborough didn’t react to the sight, just as Jack would have expected from someone who lived with a white mage. As she watched Lena, she said, “Her name’s Shelley. We found her yesterday morning, with those sores on her neck like they say is the night plague. Noah tried his spells, but we haven’t been able to wake her.”

Lena stared at the girl, and Jack suspected she was looking through her white mage soul sight. Though he viewed the room through his own aether sight, could see that Shelley’s aura seemed pale and sickly, he could not tell what ailed her. Lena sat on the edge of the bed, covering her mouth as she gasped. “She’s been drained…”

“Drained?” Jack said. “A dark mage did this?” His mind conjured up an image of Orin lying in a bed like this one, unconcious. Hadn’t he only just been thinking of drawing more from the old man? What if he caused something like this?

As he dwelled on that horrible possibility, Lena said, “No, not like that. Not her aura. I mean physically drained. Like she’s bled half to death, but… there’s no blood anywhere.” Lena looked around the bed, the pillow, the sheets, then tilted the girl’s head, looking at the sores: large, blotchy bruises that covered one side of Shelley’s neck completely. “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she said, leaning in close. “When I heard the night plague caused sores, I was expecting boils or buboes or pustules… This…” She ran her thumb over a scab in the center of the bruised area. “This looks more like a puncture wound… Like a snake bite.”

“Noah said the same, as there’s a pair of them,” Mrs. Gainsborough said from the doorway. “He said he’d treated it like one, as it seemed the right thing to do.”

“Do you know which treatments he used?” Lena asked.

Mrs. Gainsborough pointed to a wrinkled paper on top of the dresser. “He’s left you a list.”

“Jack, would you?” Lena asked, for she was on the opposite side of the bed. Jack picked the paper up, skimming over it before he passed it to her. The handwriting was unmistakably a child’s, but Jack recognized the names of several healing herbs. There were, however, many more that he didn’t know.

Lena’s eyes widened when she read the list. “This is…! Some of these are quite advanced! For a child to Cure with these… why did the cathedral ever send him away?”

Mrs. Gainsborough shrugged. “I suspect they found out he’s the bastard son of whore.”

Lena seemed stunned. “But why should that matter? White Hall - that’s in Cornelia - they’ll train anyone so long as they’re capable of magic! A talent like this… why, the priests would be lining up to teach him!”

Mrs. Gainsborough rolled her eyes. “Well, we ain’t in Cornelia. And I’m unlikely to afford us passage there at my age. What of the girl? Can you do anything for her?”

Lena shook her head. “Not much. She’ll be alright in time. She’s just weak. I can leave your son a list of potions to give her to help her regain her strength. If you’ve some bone broth…”

“I’ll send one of the girls to the market.”

Lena looked down at Shelley once more, smoothing the girl’s hair with a gentle hand, then she stood. “We should go.”

“Wait,” Jack said. “Thad said you had reason to think the night plague was connected to the missing people.”

Mrs. Gainsborough sighed. “That we do. Shelley wasn’t alone the night she got sick. The young man what was with her, he’s gone. Nobody seen him leave. We’d’ve heard him on those stairs, as you may have noticed. He can’t have climbed out the window either; there’s nothing out there to climb on. It’s as if he vanished into thin air.”

“Do you think he might be sick too?” Lena asked.

“It did cross my mind. I worried he might carry the disease away with him. He said he was a sailor, you see. I sent word to his ship, but they said he hadn’t returned. If he ain’t plague-ridden in a gutter somewhere between here and the harbor, he may be one of the missing.”

“We’ll look for him!” Lena said. “Which ship did he come in on?”

“That would be the _Sahagin Prince_.”

* * *

After lunch, Kane followed Harvey through town from one tavern to another. He felt he could have followed the route blindfolded, as often as they’d visited them all. Harvey wasn’t a drunkard - as far as Kane had seen, the young lord hardly ever had more than one drink at a time, and favored weak beers - but the taverns seemed to be where all of his friends were, and Harvey had friends in abundance. Kane tried to tally up the hours they’d spent in taverns, talking and laughing over dice or cards, in the few days since he’d arrived in Melmond, but the tally grew so large he couldn’t keep up with it.

“What are you thinking of?” Harvey asked as they turned onto Farplane Avenue.

“Just trying to add something up.”

Harvey laughed. “Sums? I hate sums. Never had a head for them. Lay off all that! You’re starting to make the same face as Gabriel.”

“I am _not_ making a face,” Sergeant Quincey said from behind them. Kane glanced back briefly to where the sergeant followed them, accompanied by another guard. Two others walked ahead, making one guard for each of them, a full escort on account of it being the day of the full moon. Leiden hadn’t permitted them to leave the house with anything less. Gabriel seemed to be watching the streets for potential threats, but Kane noted that he was indeed grimacing.

“You see it?” said Harvey, pointing. “I think he’s still upset about your match yesterday. I wish I had been there! I can’t believe I slept through that!”

Quincey scoffed. “I, on the other hand, have no trouble believing such a thing.”

Harvey only laughed again. Across the street, a man selling pies shouted his wares. Harvey smiled, waving at the man. “Carlos! What are you doing on this side of town?” He wandered over, and one of the two guards in the lead veered after him.

Kane waited where he was, having no desire to be introduced to yet another random townsperson. He leaned against the wall of the nearest shopfront. Gabriel leaned beside him. “He really is friends with everybody, isn’t he?” Kane asked.

“Near enough,” Gabriel said, frowning.  

“Listen, about the match yesterday-”

“I’m not mad about the match,” the sergeant said, shaking his head. “Harvey doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“I feel bad about it. It was-” _Cheating,_ Kane thought, but he could hardly tell the sergeant Jack had used magic to gain an advantage. He sighed, rephrasing himself. “If Clyne hadn’t lost his footing, you would have had me.”

Gabriel looked sideways at him, an assessing look, then looked back toward Harvey again. “I don’t know that I would have. You’re good, Carmine.”

“Still,” Kane said. “Perhaps a rematch is in order?”

The sergeant chuckled. “I’m sure Clyne would love another shot at your brother.”

Kane tried not to frown. “Let’s leave Jack out of it.”

Gabriel’s expression softened. “You two fighting?”

“Not really,” Kane said. The fight, if it could be called one, had been entirely one-sided. After the events in the training yard, when Kane realized that, more than simply reading the aether, Jack had actually cast a spell in front of all those people, Kane had yelled at the mage until he was blue in the face. While Kane’s father would have yelled right back at him, Jack hadn’t even tried to defend himself. He sat there as if waiting for Kane to dish out more abuse, looking so forlorn that Kane had felt guilty for yelling at him. _And why should I feel guilty?_ he thought. _I was in the right!_ Regardless, the guilt remained. Kane sighed. “I’m just disappointed in him.”

“I know what that’s like,” Gabriel said, nodding. His eyes were on Harvey again, as across the street the young Leiden laughed at something the pie-seller said before passing a few silver coins to the man. Quincey continued, “I love Harvey like a brother - better than my brothers, as I don’t get along with any of _them._ But it does grate on me, the way he doesn’t do his duty. Sometimes I almost think he would disappoint me less if he were one of my brothers - I’m used to it from them.”

Kane didn’t reply. He himself had commented to Jack on the fact that Harvey didn’t take his duties around the manor seriously.

Gabriel looked between Kane and the remaining guards, who stood quietly on either side of them. “If any of you repeat a word of that…”

“I wouldn’t,” Kane said quickly. The guard to his right swiftly agreed.

Quincey looked at the guard on his other side who hadn’t answered. “Constable?”

The guard, who had been looking farther down the street, turned back to them. “Hmm? Sorry, sarge. I wasn’t listening”

Sergeant Quincey sighed. “Hector, we’ve talked about this. You have to focus when you’re on duty.”

The slim guard shrugged sheepishly. “Yes, sarge.”

“Was he daydreaming again?” Harvey asked, returning at precisely that moment, his hands full of the little paper-wrapped pies. He grinned, motioning for Kane to take one of them. They smelled delicious.

“For Titan’s sake, Harvey. Did you buy the man out?” Gabriel said, rolling his eyes but nevertheless taking a pair of the pies for himself.

“So what if I did? At least we won’t starve to death while we’re at the Chocobo. You know my opinion of the food there.”

Gabriel snorted. “No, my lord,” he said with exaggerated interest. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you mention the subject. Pray, enlighten me.”

“Oh!” Harvey said, as though he’d just remembered something. “Kane! Carlos told me the most curious thing! You know how you said this morning that Jack had taken ill again and told you he was staying in bed? It seems he was faking it!”

“How do you mean?” Gabriel asked before Kane could get a word in.

The guard who had gone over to the pie-seller with Harvey said, “The merchant says he saw the other young master Carmine heading into the lower town not an hour ago. Him and his red-haired lady. _Without_ an escort.”

“The man’s sure it was him?”

The guard nodded. “Yes, sir, without a doubt. He showed his face.”

The sergeant grimaced again, turning to Kane. “Do you know anything about this?”

Kane shrugged. “It’s news to me.” Though he might have been willing to cover for Jack under other circumstances, today _was_ the day of the full moon. Perhaps Leiden’s paranoia was rubbing off on him, but Kane couldn’t think of a good reason for any of them to go wandering off alone and unguarded when the Brotherhood might be planning their next attack. _And for him to take Lena with him…_ Kane thought, frowning.

Gabriel clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he grumbled. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. Hector!”

“Sir?”

“If you can’t concentrate on your duties when you’re guarding a stationary target, perhaps you’ll focus better while hunting one down. _Don’t_ come back to the manor without the bastard. I mean it, Hector.”

Hector nodded, gulping out a choked, “Sir!” before saluting smartly and heading off to question the pie-seller himself.

“I should go with him,” Kane said.

Gabriel shook his head. “Not on your life. Lord Leiden may - may! - let it slide if I lose track of your bastard brother, but not you! I know for certain he’ll have my hide should anything happen to Redden’s appointed heir.” He addressed one of the other guards. “Chad, go back to the manor and ask Corporal Clyne what the hell he’s playing at. Those exact words, constable.”

As the second guard strode back through the streets, Harvey let out a long breath. “Well, that was exhausting! Watching you do all that work has put me in the mood for a drink. Shall we?” He whistled a jaunty tune as he walked on toward the Chocobo with the confident steps of a man who knew his companions would follow.

Kane hesitated a moment, looking back at the guard Hector, still questioning the merchant, but Quincey motioned him forward after their lordling friend. He sighed. It was easier to go along without arguing. He caught up with Harvey. Gabriel, dressed in full uniform today as was his habit, fell in behind them with the remaining guard as though the sergeant were simply another member of their escort and not Harvey’s best friend. As they traversed Farplane Avenue and the big tavern with its huge front windows came closer, Kane asked, “Why are we going to the Chocobo anyway? I thought you didn’t like it.”

“Gabriel wanted to,” Harvey said, acting put-upon. “It’s not that I don’t like it... If not for the food, this place would be perfect! It’s clean, the service is impeccable, the drinks - oh you can’t beat the drinks! Just because Vince has no taste in food…” He shrugged. “‘Never trust a skinny man with kitchen matters,’ Berta always says.”

Kane nodded. Berta, he knew, was Melmond Manor’s head cook, a generous soul when it came to things like slipping extra food to strapping young lads who had just put in a full morning at the training yard.

“You know, I’m not even sure I’ve ever seen the man eat,” Harvey was saying as they approached the tavern door.

It opened as Kane was reaching for it, and the woman who was rushing out in a huff inadvertently rushed right into his arms. His mind immediately went back to the first night of Midsummer, to the revels, when he had run into a woman in almost this exact spot, a woman in a mask who had kissed him and given him a flower. Ridiculously, he wondered briefly what had come of that flower, for he hadn’t given it a moment’s thought since that night. He had remembered the kiss, though, remembered that the woman had been tall, as tall as him, with hair just as dark as that of the woman who stood before him now.

“Beatrix!” Harvey exclaimed. “You’re still in town!”

Beatrix Hornwood, for it was her, blew a lock of that dark, wavy hair out of her face as she stepped away from Kane. He had heard her mentioned in the kitchens that morning. Though she and her family had supposedly come to town for the revels, Midsummer was over now, and the lot of them were still here. Berta and her staff had tossed their speculations back and forth without seeming to care that Kane listened nearby. The rumors said the Rot had reached the Hornwood and that Beatrix might not have a home to go back to.

“Yes,” Beatrix said, seeming frustrated. “Though presently I’m not finding it as pleasant as I was this morning. The quality of this establishment in particular has certainly fallen.”

Her eyes flashed before she began to walk away, dark eyes. Kane was trying to remember what the eyes of the woman in the mask had looked like when the door to the Chocobo flew open again, hitting his shoulder. “Beatrix!” Logan Quincey called after her.

The Hornwood girl didn’t even turn around. “Good fortune to you, sirs,” she said over her shoulder, which was exactly what the woman at the revels had said to them before she parted.

_She couldn’t be the flower girl?_ Kane thought. He turned back to Harvey, about to say something, though he didn’t know what. _“Remember that girl who kissed me? Kissed both of us? The one who was wandering the revels without an escort like some street waif?”_ It was ridiculous when he thought of it. Beatrix Hornwood was a noble. To even mention in passing that she could have behaved so would be an insult, and the way Logan Quincey stood staring after her with his fists clenched at his sides suggested that insulting the Lady-Heir of Hornwood would not be a good idea.

Logan sighed, only then seeming to notice the small crowd their group made in front of the door. He looked at Sergeant Quincey in surprise. “Hello, little brother. I wouldn’t have thought to see you here.”

“Oh, really now, Logan!” Harvey said, laughing. “Everyone knows this is Gabriel’s favorite tavern, though only the gods know why! Say, do they still have any of that peach beer from Half-Moon?” He pushed past the larger man into the bar without waiting for an answer, followed by their lone remaining guard.  

Kane waited, but the sergeant made no move to follow them. Nor did Logan step aside. The brothers stood looking at each other, tension thick between them. Eventually, Logan said, “I hear you’re looking into that gray house on Main.”

“So what if I am?” Gabriel snapped.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “There’s no need to be hostile. You came to my place of work, remember? You can hardly take offense when _you_ run into _me._ ”

“You work here?” Kane said. “At the tavern?”

“More specifically, the accounting office upstairs,” Logan said.

“I didn’t realize,” Kane said.

“Hmph. Neither did the Lady Hornwood,” Logan grumbled. “You, though,” he said, addressing Gabriel again, “were fully aware of that fact. So what brings you to the Chocobo?”

_A valid question,_ Kane thought. Harvey said the Chubby Chocobo had been Gabriel’s idea; Kane knew Harvey would never have visited the place otherwise. But Kane also knew the young sergeant couldn’t stand the mere mention of his older brothers. Why would he have risked running into one?

“I have my own business,” Gabriel said. “What can you tell me about the robbery two nights ago?”

Logan scoffed. “Two nights ago? You couldn’t possibly be investigating that little dust-up.”

Gabriel crossed his arms and glared. “Investigating is my job, Logan. I actually earned _my_ job, you know. I wasn’t handed it.”

Logan’s face went stiff and still, but Kane caught the hurt expression he hadn’t been quick enough to suppress. “That’s unfair,” he said quietly. “I only meant I heard you aren’t on duty.”

Gabriel, looking very official in his uniform, grabbed Kane roughly by the shoulder and pointed at him. “I’m guarding him, aren’t I? Do you see another escort around?” He said it with such conviction that Logan seemed to be considering it.  

_“Just because I’m off duty doesn’t mean I stop being a guard.”_ Quincey had said that once. Kane remembered it suddenly, and just as suddenly, he knew why they were there. _A robbery, here?_ He knew what Pollendina was hiding here. “Healing potions,” he said. Both Quincey brothers turned to stare at him aghast.

“I beg your pardon?” Logan said, recovering first.

“If we weren’t investigating the robbery, we wouldn’t know about the healing potions, right?”

Gabriel stared at him, but Logan didn’t notice, looking up and down the street as though to see if anyone had heard them. No one nearby seemed to be paying them any mind. “Let’s talk inside,” Logan said.

* * *

Mrs. Gainsborough told them the whole tale again, sparing no details, then she left them alone. Lena sat unmoving on the bed beside the sleeping girl, her face blank. Jack went to her and sat beside her, but said nothing, waiting.

“They’re _my_ crew, Jack,” she said eventually. “I chose them. If anything’s happened to him-” She stopped, covering her mouth with one hand to hide her suddenly quivering lip.

He hugged her. “It isn’t your fault. We don’t even know for sure that anything _has_ happened to him.” It wasn’t a lie, but even as he said it, Jack knew how unlikely it was that Lena’s fears were wrong. The “him” in question, the young man who had vanished from Shelley’s room, fit Felder’s description to the letter.

“We have to go to the harbor!” she said, her voice tight with emotion. “We have to look for him!”

He sighed, pulling her close, patting her hair. He wanted to tell her no. It was too late in the day for it, really. If they headed back to the manor now, the sun would be setting by the time they arrived. They wouldn’t make it before sunset if they went to the harbor first, and tonight there would be a full moon. He wanted to tell her so, but he felt her shoulders shaking as he held her, heard her breath hitch as she cried in that quiet way of hers. “We’ll go straight away,” he said. “Please, don’t cry.”

He was still holding her moments later when he heard Thad yelling from across the house. “Lena! Lena! Come quick! Orin fell down! Lena!”

She pushed away from him, wiped her eyes, and hurried downstairs toward the sound of the boy’s voice. They found him by the front door, supporting Orin while one of the girls from the house brought him an ugly upholstered chair. “I am fine,” Orin was saying as they made him sit. “It was only a dizzy spell. It is very hot outside.”

“Get him some water,” Lena said, kneeling beside him as she placed a glowing hand on his forehead. The woman who’d brought the chair left. Lena frowned, looking into Orin’s eyes, though her own were unfocused, as they tended to be when she used her soul sight. “You don’t seem to have heat stroke.”

“I never said I did,” Orin said in a tone that Jack thought sounded short. “I am only a little tired.”

Lena ignored him. She turned to Mrs. Gainsborough, who was coming down the stairs. “Where does your son prepare his potions?”

The madam pointed. “Back of the house, second door on your right.”

Lena said, “Thadius, bring my bag,” and the two of them headed that way.

Mrs. Gainsborough took one look at the monk and nodded sharply. “Best bring him in here,” she said, moving toward the doorway she’d been standing in when Jack and Lena arrived.

Jack moved to help Orin up. He didn’t consider himself strong, but he found it took next to no effort to lift the monk, as skinny and bony as an old stray cat. When he got an arm around Orin’s shoulders and hauled him to his feet, he was so light, so very light. Orin grunted as Jack led him into the room Mrs. Gainsborough indicated; he groaned as Jack laid him in the bed there.

“I’ll go see about that water,” Mrs. Gainsborough said, leaving them alone.

Jack looked down at the old man in the bed. How fragile he seemed, how very like the image Jack’s mind had conjured up in the room upstairs. “Did I cause this?” he asked, the barest whisper, afraid to voice it out loud, but the old man heard him.

“No, master Jack,” Orin said. “This was not you.” He closed his eyes, and said nothing more. Jack wondered if he was lying.

When Lena returned some time later, carrying a teapot that did not contain tea, Orin roused and drank a cup, seeming somewhat better afterward. “We must return to the manor,” he said. “It is late in the day.”

“You don’t seem in any condition to go that far,” Jack said.

“There is a guardhouse near the cathedral, not far from here. We can send word to the manor from there. Perhaps they can spare an escort for us.”

Lena looked at Jack, and he saw the conflict in her face.

“You go with him,” Jack said. “I’ll go to the harbor.”

Orin shook his head weakly. “You cannot! The full moon-”

“He has to, Orin,” Lena said. “I’ll explain on the way. But, Jack, please be careful.”

Jack nodded. “If I’m not finished by nightfall, I’ll stay on the ship. Surely the Brotherhood aren’t planning to attack a full pirate crew.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Thad. “That way you won’t be alone, and I can check on Oscar. Come on!”

The old man protested feebly, but Thad was already out the door. Jack looked at Lena, and her eyes held his. _I have permission to kiss her,_ his mind whispered, and for a moment he hovered in indecision between stepping toward her and stepping away, toward the door, but his cowardice won out in the end. He ducked his head in farewell just as Thad called for him from the front hall.

* * *

Thad wandered toward the harbor district with Jack behind him. The mage cursed as he was jostled by the citizens who thronged the streets, as though he didn’t know how to move in a city. _Maybe he doesn’t,_ Thad thought, weaving casually between a street vendor and the customer he was ripping off. Jack was from Crescent Lake; Thad didn’t know what kind of place Crescent Lake was. Lena had told him about the small village she was from, how few people lived there compared to Melmond or even Pravoka. Maybe Crescent Lake was like that.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Jack said.

“Yeah. Orin made me memorize that map, remember?”

“Excuse me,” Jack muttered as he bumped into a woman who glared sharply at him but kept walking. “At least don’t get too far ahead. I’ve no idea where we are.”

Thad slowed down to walk beside the mage, who moved so slowly through the crowd that Thad was immediately bored. He pulled his rubber ball from his pocket to entertain himself. They walked in silence for a time, the steady, rhythmic popping of the red ball adding to the noises of the street. They’d gone a few streets over, the seedier shops giving way to more warehouses. Thad pointed and said, “You can see the ships from here, between those buildings.”

“Hmm,” said Jack. “I guess you did know the way after all.”

Thad frowned, wondering if Jack meant to be insulting. He thought about saying something sarcastic in reply, but decided against it. Jack seemed distracted, and likely hadn’t meant anything by his comment. “What did you need to visit the harbor for anyway?” he said.

“We think Felder’s missing.”

“Oh? Kane won’t like that. Felder’s his friend.”

“Lena didn’t like it much either,” Jack said.

The mage blushed when he said her name. It was hard to tell with the scarf on, but Thad still noticed. “So you and Lena are kissing now? I saw you kiss her.”

Jack stumbled, tripping over nothing. “I… that’s…”

They turned a corner, and there, coming out of one of the shipping offices, locking it behind him, was Patch Bayard, the captain of the _Strahl_. He was alone, plainly dressed, without his tricorn captain’s hat and with a simple, inconspicuous bandana covering his bald head. He took the key from the door and slipped it into his shirt, looking around cautiously as though he suspected an attack. He looked right at them.

Thad stopped in his tracks, ready to bolt. His hand fell to the hilt of his little sword. His rubber ball bounced away, toward Bayard’s feet. _He sailed with Pappy,_ Thad thought, remembering the long voyage from Safe Port to Pravoka after his Pappy came for him, remembering the men on that crew, all dead now except for this man. He waited for the captain to see him, to recognize him; it was too late to hide.

But Bayard didn’t look twice at him. Instead, he stared wide-eyed at the tall black mage. His face broke into a grin. “As I live and breathe… Jack!”

“Captain Bayard!” Jack said, stepping forward to meet him. The two shook hands like old friends.

“I figured you’d have sailed on by now!” said Bayard.

Jack laughed. He almost never laughed. “I did! Sort of… It’s a long story.”

“Tell me about it over a drink?” Bayard said.

“I wish I could, but I have business at the harbor.”

“I’m heading there myself! Will you walk with me?” He bent, picking up the red rubber ball and passing it to Thad. His eyes lingered on Thad for a moment, a curious expression. “Have I seen you around town before?”

“It’s likely,” Jack said, motioning the captain to lead the way. “We’ve been here since Midsummer, guests at Melmond Manor. How long will you be in Melmond?”

Bayard shrugged, turning up the street, already dismissing Thad as unimportant. “Who knows? I thought I’d be on my way back to Crescent Lake by now, but… well, some of my business is taking longer than I expected.”

The two of them walked ahead, leaving Thad behind. He stared after them, trying to recover his senses. The lord secretary had tasked this man with hunting down white mages in the lower town - with hunting down Noah. Thad had heard their conversation himself. Bayard obviously hadn’t caught the boy yet. Was that the “business” that was taking up his time?  

The two men chatted as they walked, like a pair of old women. Jack asked after Bayard’s ship, his crew, his last trip to Crescent Lake. The captain had been there and back three times, it seemed, had even lost one ship to the voyage. When they reached the docks, passing the registrar’s table, Bayard pointed out the _Strahl_ , his new ship, commented on how she handled. Thad followed, listening, until Bayard said, “So you’re staying with Lord Leiden? Did you come with those Cornelians?”

Jack chuckled. “You heard about that?”

Thad hurried to move in on Jack’s other side, tugging his sleeve. “I need to talk to you.”

“In a minute,” Jack said.

“I hear that man Carmine is a real piece of work. Supposed to be some prophesied savior of the city?” Bayard spat to show what he thought of that. “What’s he really like?”

“He’s a good man,” Jack said. “The prophecy is just-”

“Jack!” Thad hissed, tugging harder, hard enough that the mage was brought up short. “I need to talk to you!”

Jack looked down at him, surprised. He said, “Bayard, excuse us for a moment,” then shoved Thad down the dock a few paces, closer to their own ship. “What?” he said, clearly annoyed.

“Jack! That man is a bad man! He’s supposed to be dead! He’s probably working for the Brotherhood! And you’re telling him everything!”

Jack’s brows drew together in confusion. “What are you talking about? I know Bayard. He’s not with the Brotherhood.”

“Then why is he smuggling healing potions?”

“Smuggling?” Jack looked back at Bayard. The captain had his back to them, speaking to a man near the _Strahl’s_ gangplank. Jack bent down, closer to Thad’s eye-level, and lowered his voice. “He’s not smuggling anything, Thad. I know all about those healing potions. He came to Crescent Lake looking for a way to treat the night plague in the countryside. I met him when he picked up his first shipment. That’s how I got here; I came to Melmond on his ship.”

“If he’s not smuggling them, why is he hiding them? He’s not sending them to the countryside at all! He and that skinny secretary hid them at a bar in the banking district. I saw them!”

Jack seemed to be thinking. “Orin mentioned something about that… but I never thought… Thad, listen, I know Bayard! I was there when he asked the Circle for help. He was sincere! It can’t have been a trick! There must be some mistake.”

“I _heard_ him, Jack! He’s supposed to be hunting down white mages! I _heard_ him.”

That won Jack over. Thad saw it in his eyes - the black mage was too protective of Lena, of white mages, to let something like that go. But while he’d been focused on Jack, Bayard had come up behind them. “So there _was_ someone listening. I thought Vince was being paranoid.”

Jack whipped around. Thad drew his sword. Bayard only stood with his arms crossed, frowning at them.

“You’re him, aren’t you? The Shipman boy? I almost didn’t recognize you - you’ve grown so much.”

“I almost didn’t recognize _you,_ since you’re alive,” Thad spat out. “What happened to the _Syldra?_ Where’s Pappy?”

“Thad,” Jack whispered, shaking his head. Thad _was_ drawing attention. Dockworkers and men from the boats were craning their necks to see why he was yelling. Jack addressed the captain in a calm, cold voice. “You don’t deny what Thad says he heard… Is it true then? Are you hunting white mages?”

“We need them,” Bayard said. “Titan needs them. The Rot is… Perhaps we could talk about this aboard my ship?”

“I don’t think so,” Jack said quickly.

Bayard seemed hurt. “Not so long ago, you trusted me enough to leave your village and sail clear across the world with me.”

“Perhaps I was wrong.”

Bayard nodded. “Perhaps you were. Tell me, did you happen to tell Lord Leiden you’re a black mage when he invited you to stay with him? I have no quarrel with you, Jack. But this business with the healing potions? The white mages? It’s big, bigger than you know. You need to stay out of it.”

He turned back toward his ship.

“Wait!” Thad called without thinking. Bayard stopped, and Thad knew he couldn’t let the man leave without answering his questions. “The _Syldra!_ Tell me about the _Syldra!”_

Bayard turned. He looked down at Thad, and there was something in his eyes that might have been pity. “It was lost in the storm.” He didn’t say which storm. No one ever did. Everyone knew the storm.

“But _you_ survived!” Thad said, his voice edging into a whine.

“I couldn’t tell you how. I was in the right place when the ship went down, that’s all. Ended up in a lifeboat with a couple of other men, but there was no sight of land. We prayed to Leviathan for salvation. We prayed for days. And when the others died of thirst, I kept praying. But it wasn’t Leviathan who answered.”

“You mentioned Titan?” Jack said.

Bayard nodded. “The gods are real, Jack. Titan is, at any rate. I’ve seen him. But… I don’t think there is a Leviathan anymore… I think the seas rage because the sea god is dead. And now the earth rots because Titan is dying.” He looked at Thad again. “Don’t bother with prayers, little one. Soon, there won’t be any gods left to hear them.”

He started to turn and walk away, but again, Thad called, “Wait!” When Bayard stopped, Thad said, “Pappy…?”

Bayard didn’t even turn around. “I don’t know. He wasn’t on that lifeboat. I think… I think I’m the only one.”

He watched Bayard walk back to the _Strahl_ and board it, watched him disappear below decks. He was still looking at the _Strahl_ when Jack said, “Come on,” and grabbed his shoulder to steer him toward the _Prince._ He let Jack pull him along; he couldn’t see through his tears.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _12/1/17: I’m back, readers! I’m sorry for the delay. It’s been a tough couple of months. It really threw off my writing schedule._   
>  _I had a minor (though probably permanent) health issue crop up in September that laid me out for several days. You know the kind of illness where you’re not dying but you totally wouldn’t mind if that came to pass? I was pretty miserable. I didn’t start to feel normal again until mid-October. It’s an ongoing problem, but I think I have it under control now. There’s more to it than that, but I’ll spare you the details._   
>  _If you missed me, again I’m sorry, but I’m glad you cared enough about this story to miss me! Thanks for coming back and checking for an update! I’ve written a lot this month and I can’t wait for you to see what I’ve got coming up next!_   
>  _I’d like to take a moment to thank my betas: Dizzy, Rabbit, Sweaterkittys, and Artemis (who I haven’t mentioned here by name before). I’ve been relying on them pretty heavily in these trying times._   
>  _And a special shout-out to David, Zach, and Matteo. I kept telling myself, “I have to get this thing posted so they can read it!” You boys are my rock._


	45. The Earth Under Our Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: The Earth Under Our Feet from Final Fantasy Type-0, which is the chocobo theme, let’s be honest. It’s like if the Star Wars Imperial March and the chocobo theme had a baby. This song is that baby. Click[here](https://youtu.be/uVc8pLhsNj8) to hear it on an extra long loop._

_ The Earth Cave, Twenty-four Years Ago _

Redden walked down the hill toward the cave as Cid ordered the men to form ranks, lining up four abreast as that was how wide the cave was in its narrowest places. Scarlet watched them with a curious, somewhat bemused expression. She looked up at Redden and smiled in such a happy, doting way that he worried she might be planning to do him some mischief until he realized the smile was aimed over his shoulder, where Sarda followed behind him.

But then her smile fell and Redden felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned, seeing that Sarda stood rooted to the spot, a look of horror on his face as he stared at the cave down below. “That’s where we’re going?” Sarda asked.

Redden nodded, though the hair on the back of his neck stood up as though the madman’s fear was catching.

“No,” Sarda said, his voice growing louder as he went on. “No, no, no, no, no! I’ve seen this before! The skull is always smiling, but its teeth are sharp!” He rushed over to his sister, framing her face between his hands. “You can’t go in there! Not you! Not tonight!”

“She has to,” Cid said. “There’s no one else!”

“No!” Sarda screamed, crying now. “No! No! I’ve seen this before!”

Scarlet wrapped her arms around him, cooing soothingly as one would to a baby. “Shh, brother! Hush! Hush now. I won’t go.”

“You can’t mean that!” Redden said.

“I do,” Scarlet said, her eyes flat and emotionless over the top of her brother’s head where it rested on her shoulder. Sarda’s shoulders shook as he cried.

“Scarlet,” Redden said, hearing the desperation in his own voice. “We can’t go another month without casting the ritual again. The Rot… We’ve already lost the harbor! If it reaches the lower town-”

“I don’t give two figs about the lower town, or the rest of the city besides. He’s seen my death in that cave. I won’t go.”

“He said no such thing!” Cid argued.

“He doesn’t have to say it. He reads the aether and I read him. Are you going to try to tell me you don’t know your own brother nearly as well as you know yourself?”

Cid swore an oath, gesturing to the men nearby. “We don’t have time for this,” he growled, and Redden could see that he would drag her along if he had to.

Redden reached for her arm, hoping to talk sense into her before Cid did anything rash. “Scarlet, please-” He cut off abruptly, hissing as pain surged through his hand where he gripped her wrist. He recoiled from her, stumbling into his brother’s men and rubbing his hand, now burning with white-hot agony.

“Don’t come any closer,” she said, her voice low and threatening. The light of the torches the men carried flickered against the Protect spell she called up around herself and the madman. She walked back up the hill slowly as her still-sobbing brother clung to her.

Redden stared after her, the words of the White Oath echoing through his head: “ _ Harm no living thing.” ...How? How had she done it? White magic shouldn’t be capable of inflicting such pain... _

“What do we do?” Cid said quietly beside him.

“We can’t abandon the ritual. I have to cast it myself,” Redden said.

Cid looked at him, a long, searching look, but his face didn’t contain any of the doubt or fear Redden knew his own must be showing. “Can you?”

“I don’t know, Cid. Gods, I don’t know.”

* * *

_ Melmond, Present Day _

Kane sat with Gabriel and his brother at the table farthest from the door, on the far side of the raised platform that served as a stage. There were no musicians at the moment, but the Chocobo was noisy enough without them, filled with people stopping in for a subpar meal or a quiet drink on their way home from work. Gabriel was wedged into the corner, trapped behind the table but with the best view of the entrance. Kane, beside him, was less encumbered by the furniture but he couldn’t see the whole tavern without turning his head. Should the Chocobo come under attack, he would have to trust Gabriel to sound a warning. Kane realized he trusted the sergeant that much, musing that, should such a situation occur, the two of them would make a great team. 

Logan Quincey sat on the other side of the table. A muscular man, of a size with both Gabriel and Kane, Logan wore a short sword comfortably at his hip as though he were used to it, but Kane could tell he was not a warrior. He was far too open, too trusting: he hadn’t hesitated at all before taking that seat, with his back to the rest of the bar and everything in it, nor had he hesitated to tell his brother and Kane everything they wanted to know. Namely, that Pollendina, who lived upstairs, claimed he had heard a strange noise one night coming from the storage room, to which he had the only keys. When he opened the door, the potions were already gone.

“Just like that,” Logan said, snapping his fingers. “Twelve cases. And these weren’t lightweight, either.”

“Gone?” said Gabriel. “Just… Gone? Out of a locked room?”

“Locked and warded, from what I understand,” said Logan. “Though where he found a mage to ward it is anyone’s guess.”

“Maybe he’s a mage?” Kane said, wincing as Gabriel kicked his ankle under the table. “What? Don’t tell me it hasn’t occurred to you already?”

Logan chuckled, hiding his smile behind his mug as he sipped his beer. “Careful,” he said. “Everyone knows there are no mages in the high families, black or white.”

“You’re right: that doesn’t mean he isn’t one,” Gabriel said. “You just can’t say something like that out loud.”

“Is the stigma against mages here so great that even the nobles aren’t safe?” Kane asked.

Logan shrugged. “It’s more that the ideals of magic aren’t compatible with those of the nobility. To be a mage is to be a servant. It’s in those oaths of theirs.”

Kane gaped. “How exactly is that incompatible with the ideals of nobility? You serve the people, don’t you? Melmond can’t be so removed from Cornelia that even that’s different!” Even as he said it, Kane remembered what his father had told them the night they arrived there: Melmond was dying, and the high families knew it.  _ If that’s how they all feel, it’s no wonder, _ he thought.

“It’s complicated,” said Gabriel, rolling his eyes. “Particularly where Lord Pollendina is concerned. None of the other nobles have a private police force in their pockets. Speculations like that are liable to get you in trouble with the inspectors.”

“I notice you don’t seem worried I’ll report back to him later,” Logan said with a wink, gesturing with his mug. “I do work for him now.” 

Gabriel said nothing, but the noise he made in the back of his throat said exactly how much of a threat he believed his brother might be. He lifted his own mug, looking toward the bar where Kane knew Harvey was entertaining a group of businessmen with his tales. From there, the sergeant’s eyes flicked toward the door and he grimaced, setting his mug back down without taking a drink. “Aw, hell,” he muttered.

Kane turned just in time to see his father entering the bar, accompanied by a half dozen guards. The murmur of the bar crowd subsided as the guards spread out, taking up defensive positions around the room’s perimeter, but then the noise picked up again. Lord Redden looked right at Harvey, seeming surprised to see him there. His eyes scanned the room, and when they came to rest on Kane, he frowned.

“Oh, good!” said Logan when he saw who it was. He stood. “I wondered when you’d show up. You’re later than you said you’d be.”

Redden ignored the older Quincey, focusing instead on Kane and Gabriel. “Where are your guards?”

Kane kept his eyes down. He didn’t think there was anything he could say to salvage the situation. Gabriel, though, gave it a try, looking boldly up at Lord Redden as he spoke. “There was another matter they needed to look into.”

“Then you should have gone back to the house!” Redden said, glaring. 

Gabriel held his gaze for a little while, but then abandoned the fight and looked down at his beer as Redden kept glaring.

Logan looked at Gabriel as well, but his face expressed more hurt than anger. “You mean he’s not actually on duty?”

“Not even remotely,” said Redden.

The sergeant shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his face red. 

“Interesting,” said Logan. “Gabriel, do you have anything to contribute to the conversation?”

“He can explain himself to Lord Leiden,” Redden said, somehow turning the simple statement into a threat. “Later. In the meantime, were you able to get what I asked for?”

Logan nodded. “I have it upstairs. One moment.” He took a step away from the table then turned back. “Brother, would you accompany me? I would like a word.”

Gabriel nodded stiffly. Kane stood to let him out of the corner seat and watched as the two brothers wove between the tables and headed up the stairs behind the bar, their whispered conversation clearly growing more argumentative with each step they took.

Lord Redden slid easily into Logan’s abandoned seat, motioning for Kane to sit again. “You’re conducting your own investigation, I take it?”

“Only recently,” Kane said, sliding into a chair.

“Don’t.”

“I can’t just sit still, father! Following Harvey around day after day, pretending I’m…” He stopped, took a swig of his drink. “Pretending I’m some kind of idle lord.”

Redden winced. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re stuck with him. But you’re  _ safe _ with him. Son, these people who have gone missing - do you know about that?”

Kane shook his head. “I know of it, but no details.”

Redden sighed, looking behind him to see how close the next table was, checking for eavesdroppers. “Listen. Fifteen people have gone missing under strange circumstances since Midsummer. Those are only the ones we’re certain of. There are at least half again as many that may be related. All gone from within a few blocks of each other in the lower town, all at night.”

“So I won’t go out at night,” Kane said. “Seems simple enough.”

“No, son. It’s not that simple. Arthur’s trying to keep it quiet, but the victims…” He looked around again to be sure no one was listening. “They’re all young men. About your age.” 

“Gods…” Kane breathed. He could hear Harvey laughing from the direction of the bar, and suddenly things began to make sense. “No wonder Leiden insisted on so many guards…”

“That’s not the whole of it.” Redden sat back, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “There’s no rhyme or reason to these disappearances. Some of those young men weren’t even alone when they vanished, but none of their friends remembers seeing anything. It’s like the boys were there one minute and gone the next. It has to be magic.”

“Then it has to be the Brotherhood!” Kane said. 

“Keep your voice down,” Redden hissed. “You leave the Brotherhood to me. I have a theory where they’ll strike next.”

“Then take me with you! ” Kane said. “Why do you insist on leaving me behind? How am I supposed to be a Warrior of Light if you won’t let me fight?”

“Keep. Your voice. Down,” Redden repeated, looking around again. Logan and Gabriel were on their way back, but no one else seemed to be paying them any mind. Logan was carrying a large, earthenware jug with a wooden lid held on by a wire clasp. It thudded heavily when he set it on the table. Lord Redden popped the clasp and looked inside, wrinkling his nose at what he saw. “Did you have any trouble getting it?” 

Logan shrugged. “Not really. We asked one of the refugees from the outer farms. When we told him it was for the son of Titan, he was only too happy to journey back to his homestead and fetch it for us.” He looked uneasily at the jug. “Are you sure it won’t spread to the city just from being here?”

Redden shook his head. “The Rot doesn’t work that way. If it did, your refugees would have brought it to the city with them long ago.” 

“Wait,” said Gabriel. “This muck is from the Rot?”

“It  _ is  _ the Rot.” Redden closed the lid again, frowning as though the sludge smelled terrible. Kane hadn’t been able to smell anything.  “It will be useful against the Brotherhood. The Rot has strange effects on black mages.” He stood, shifting the heavy jug to his hip.

_ He’ll be fighting them tonight, _ Kane thought, feeling so restless all of a sudden that his skin began to crawl. He pushed to his feet. “Father-”

“That’s enough, Kane.”

“But, father-” 

“No buts,” Redden said sharply. “It’s the full moon tonight and you’re out without an adequate escort. I can’t do the job Arthur’s given me if I’m busy looking after you.”

“You don’t have to look after me!” Kane said. “I’m a trained soldier! I can help you!”

“You’re no soldier,” Redden snapped. “You’re a peace-time guard with little more experience than sentry duty. You may be a capable swordsman, but I don’t need you getting in my way.” He stepped away, saying, “You boys head back to the manor before sunset.” 

He nearly ran into someone who had come up behind them. It was Harvey. Kane hadn’t seen him come back over. The young Leiden stood with a foaming mug in one hand, smiled guilelessly at Lord Redden, and said, “Does it have to be the manor? It’s just that Logan’s invited us over to the Quincey house for cards later. I can ask one of my inspector friends to accompany us if you think we need a larger escort.”

Redden nodded. “That’s fine. But head out soon. I want you inside before dark.” He turned to go, calling over his shoulder, “Keep an eye on each other tonight. Don’t go anywhere alone.” His own guards moved through the room, joining him at the door as he left.

Kane flopped into his chair again, too shaken to remain standing. He didn’t know if his father’s words had left him more angry or heartbroken.  _ In the way… He can’t really think that, can he? _ he thought, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He tried counting to ten. It wasn’t helping. 

The door had scarcely closed behind Lord Redden when Gabriel said, “What are you up to, Harvey? You haven’t spoken to Logan since we’ve been here, and I know he hasn’t invited us anywhere. Why would you lie to Lord Carmine about that?”

“It wasn’t a lie!” Harvey said cheerfully. “Well, it was, but it doesn’t have to be. Say, Logan, why don’t you invite us over so I won’t have lied?”

Logan frowned at his brother. “And what of your lies, Gabriel? You said you were on duty, and I believed you. Do you realize what kind of trouble I could be in for telling you what I did? You know I need this job!”

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel said. He slouched into a chair, reaching across the table for the mug of beer he’d left there, hiding behind it momentarily as he took a long drink. “It wasn’t my intention to cause problems for you at work. I just… Gods, I have so many questions. None of this is adding up!”

Logan growled, “‘This’? This what? A half-assed investigation of your own? To what purpose?”

Gabriel slammed the mug onto the tabletop. “Because I can’t just sit by and do nothing, damn it!”

Harvey pulled over a chair from another table. It scraped against the wooden floor with an ear-splitting squeak. Then he sat down across from the sergeant, nodding solemnly. “But you haven’t been doing nothing, have you? You’ve been keeping tabs on the Brotherhood for at least the past four days, right? Longer, if I had to guess. You weren’t really coming to town by yourself to look at possible rent houses, were you?”

Kane sat up a little straighter. This was news to him. Gabriel looked at Harvey, clearly surprised.

Harvey smiled. “Aha! I  _ am _ right! I wasn’t sure, you know. It’s not often I solve the case!” He tilted his mug toward Gabriel’s, tapping the brims together with a little click in a one-sided toast. But then his smile grew sad. “I’m no good at investigating, not like you. Hell, I’m no good at lording either. I know you’re ashamed of me.”

Both Logan and Gabriel started to protest, but Harvey went on. “You don’t have to deny it to spare my feelings. I  _ know _ I’m bad at it. But you’re good at investigating, Gabriel. You’re really good at what you do. So… So I’m ordering you to do it. Not as your friend, but as your lord.”

Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest, stared down at his beer. “Pretty sure your father’s lordly commands supercede yours.”

Harvey shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that! I did say I’m bad at the lording thing.” He elbowed Kane, smiling infectiously. “What do you say, Carmine? Shall we launch an investigation of our own? Try to catch a few dark mages?”

Kane lacked the energy to smile back. “Are you sure I won’t just get in the way? You heard what father said.”

“Hmm,” Harvey said, pursing his lips. “I’m pretty sure I heard him say you’re a capable swordsman. That’s high praise coming from a son of Titan. Besides, we’ll be well out of his way at the Quincey house, won’t we?”

“It’s no good,” Gabriel said, shaking his head. “So much has happened while I’ve been off duty. My friends on the investigation team have slipped me the odd report when they can, but I’ve missed so much…”

Logan drummed his fingers on the table. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then stopped, shaking his head.

“Out with it,” said Gabriel.

Logan sighed, seeming to come to a decision. “Would it help if you had a copy of the Avenue Inspectors’ casefiles?”

* * *

“So they’re both missing?” said Jack. He sat across from Captain Gabbiani at the big table in the captain’s cabin. In front of him were maps: maps of the city showing the locations of the dark mage attacks, and maps of the countryside showing the spread of the Rot. The crew, it seemed, had been conducting their own investigations under Redden’s orders. Redden, of course, probably knew already that both Felder and Cole had disappeared over the past two days. The rest of the crew had run themselves ragged searching for them.

“That’s the way of it,” Gabbiani said, emptying a glass of the Pravokan whiskey he favored. 

“How am I going to tell Lena?” Jack looked down at his own glass, a half-shot of whiskey the captain had poured for him without asking. Normally, Jack kept away from anything as strong as that on an empty stomach, but at the thought of making Lena cry again, he knocked the glass back in one gulp, choking as it burned going down.  

“Don’t tell her,” said the captain, pouring himself another drink.

He started to refill Jack’s glass, but Jack waved him off. One had been enough to set the aether purring like a cat around him, hard to draw and harder to work. Any more and he might not be able to cast even the most basic spells. “I can’t lie to her,” Jack said.

“Didn’t say to lie. Said don’t tell her. Think I tell my wife half the trouble I get into while I’m away?”

Jack cocked his head, looking at the bald captain with his face like tanned leather. “You’re married?”

The captain nodded. “Happily. For twenty-nine years.”

“How can you be happily married if you spend so much time at sea?”

Gabbiani shrugged. “Because I spend so much time at sea.”

Jack found Thad on the deck, sleeping in a pool of sunshine at the prow, in front of Oscar’s pot as the afternoon sun gave way to evening. The ochu slept too, snoring like a beast ten times its size, a line of drool glistening out from its mouth and onto the deck. 

Leo sat barefoot on a bench nearby, polishing his only pair of boots. He was the youngest of the pirate crew now. “Little man cried himself out,” he said, nodding toward Thad without looking up from his task.

Jack squatted in front of Oscar to give the ochu a better look. He poked at the beast, trying to wake him, but the irascible plant only snorted in his sleep without rousing. He looked pale, and his vines seemed thinner than Jack recalled them being. “Has this thing been eating alright?”

“Not as much as it was, now that you mention it.”

Jack worried about that, but before he could think too hard on it, Maxell, guarding the gangplank, called out a warning. Leo looked up from his boot polishing, toward the noise. “Is this a friend of yours?” he asked, pointing.

Jack stood, looking over the ship’s railing toward the dock where a guard paced nervously, as though trying to decide if he would board the ship or not. “Hector? What are you doing here?”

Leo signaled Maxell, a “come ahead” gesture, then crossed the deck in his bare feet to knock on the cabin door. On the dock, the larger pirate spoke to the dithering guard, motioning him to come aboard. Hector - dwarfed by Maxell’s not inconsiderable size - hesitated, clearly nervous about the prospect, but then hurried up the gangplank. “Master Carmine!” he said. “I’m to escort you back to the manor.”

Jack looked westward at how low the sun sat in the sky. He looked at the guard again. “Now? It’s nearly dark. I had planned to stay the night here.”

Hector shook his head. “Do you know what they’ll do to me if I let you stay out overnight? I could lose my job!”

“From what I hear, being out late on the night of the full moon could cost you more than that,” said Jack.

“We’re not in the lower town! We’re both armed, and I’m in uniform. I’ll risk it!”

“Hector-”

“The longer we stand here arguing about it, the later it gets!” Hector said, his voice growing frantic. “I’m prepared to take you back by force!” he added, though from what Jack could see, he seemed prepared for nothing of the sort.

“No need,” Gabbiani said from the cabin door where he leaned casually against the frame. “He’s all yours.”

“Traitor,” Jack muttered. 

“Best you get going,” the captain said. He nodded toward Thad. “But leave the boy. It’s the full moon, after all. Ain’t safe to go walking this late.”

Jack glared at the man, then stomped down the gangplank and up the dock. Hector hurried after him. They stopped briefly at the registrar’s table so the guard could show the old man there some kind of official-looking badge. The registrar had just waved them through when a man behind them called, “Wait!” 

He was another uniformed guard, but not the regular kind - an Avenue Inspector. He walked right past the registrar’s table without stopping; the registrar didn’t bat an eye. The inspector stopped in front of Jack and bowed courteously. “I’ve a message from Captain Bayard.” Jack looked uncomfortably toward Hector, remembering the threatening way Bayard had mentioned Jack being a black mage. The inspector went on, “The captain says he’s sorry you didn’t part on better terms. He’s sent you this.” Here the man passed Jack a satchel. “He also asked me to say should you find what he’s looking for, he hopes you’ll keep him in mind. As a friend.”

The inspector bowed again, turned, and walked back down the dock toward the  _ Strahl. _ Jack stared after him without checking the satchel’s contents until Hector elbowed him and asked, “What’d you get?”

Jack reached into the satchel and pulled out a wine bottle with an elvish label. He viewed it through his aether sight, but it was only wine.

Nonetheless, Hector whistled admiringly. “You have rich friends.”

“I don’t know if ‘friend’ is the right word,” said Jack.

He walked faster than he had on the way to the harbor. He told himself it was because he knew the way this time, but he knew it was really because the growing twilight made him nervous. It was definitely gloomy by the time they reached the west gate guardhouse, where a group of other guards were apparently waiting for him to turn up. 

Corporal Clyne came out of a back office and barked, “Maurice, Lambert, send word to the patrols. Tell them we’ve found him.” Then he stood with his arms crossed over his chest, scowling as he loomed over Jack. 

As tall as Jack was, he was unaccustomed to being looked down on. He sighed, trying to school his guilty expression, hoping his scarf hid the worst of it. “Corporal,” he said. 

Clyne narrowed his eyes, flexing his fingers against biceps bigger than Jack’s thighs. “Tie his hands,” he growled.

Jack pulled his hands free as the other guards moved to obey. “Hold on! I can explain!”

“I thought you and I had come to an understanding,” said the corporal.

“Nicholas-” Jack began, but the big guard talked right over him.

“I don’t have to be nice! My orders are to guard you! I’m not required to let you leave the house! I thought you knew that?”

“I do, but-”

“How many times have I escorted you to Lord Unne’s and back? How many times?”

“That was-”

“And despite that, you sneak off without me? Today of all days? Do you realize what a fool you’ve made me look? And just so you and your girl could fluff the pillows at the Beehive?”

Jack looked at the floor, avoiding eye contact with the group of guards, all of whom suddenly seemed very interested in the conversation. “That would be the name of Mrs. Gainsborough’s establishment?”

Clyne put a hand over his eyes, shaking his head. “You really  _ were  _ there! I thought for sure those inspectors were mistaken! For Titan’s sake, Carmine! It’s not as if I would have tried to talk you out of it! It’s not my place to judge your habits!”

Jack nodded, sighing, too relieved to be embarrassed by the situation. He’d been right: no one wondered what he and Lena had been doing at the brothel. They assumed they knew. Still, he didn’t want the corporal to overthink the situation, or to wonder too deeply how Jack had escaped the manor unnoticed. He extended his arm, letting the satchel he carried hang between them.

“What’s this?” the big guard said.

“Peace offering,” Jack muttered.

Clyne opened the satchel, looking inside, and then he stared, dumbfounded. “This… This is… Are you  _ giving _ this to me?”

Jack nodded again.

Clyne pulled out the bottle, tossing the empty satchel aside. “Hinton, get the corkscrew,” he said, smiling. 

“Shouldn’t you wait, sir? Until you get master Carmine back to the manor?”

Clyne shook his head. “I’ve been off duty for two hours waiting for this bastard to turn up. He and I will drink it on the way.”

“I will?” said Jack.

“Of course!” Clyne said, laughing. “No way you’re giving this to me without drinking some!” He patted Jack’s back so hard it stung.

* * *

They were halfway to the manor before the bastard started stumbling. Corporal Clyne, Nicholas to his friends, pried the bottle from Jack’s unresisting fingers, took another drink himself, and passed it on to Chad. “Alright there, Carmine?” he asked. 

“Fine,” Jack said cheerfully, wiping his mouth on the loose folds of his yellow scarf. “Never better.”

“I would have thought he’d have a better head for drink,” Hector said, “the way bastards are supposed to carry on.”

“Who you calling a bastard?” Jack said, punching at Hector’s arm, missing it completely.

“Can I keep the bottle, Corporal? To show my dad?” Chad said. “He’ll never believe me when I tell him we got to drink Elfheim Red.” Chad and his young wife had taken in Chad’s father recently, a former guardsman whose bad knees had forced him into early retirement. The man had taken to moping about the house, pestering his son and daughter-in-law about the prospect of grandchildren.

Nicholas nodded. “If we haven’t emptied it first, you can save him the last sip.” He looked over at Jack, who smiled up at the sky like an idiot as the light of the full moon glittered in his eyes. The scars he usually kept covered pulled his smile off-center. “So Carmine,” Nicholas said. “I’ve got to know. How’d you sneak past us?”

Jack laughed. “It’s not easy, you know! Though it’s so much easier without dragging Kane along.  _ Ramuh, nasgi gahgeduh.” _

“What was that?” said Nicholas.

“Hmm?” said Jack.

“I didn’t understand that last bit.”

“I said he was heavy.” Jack yawned, stretching his arms above his head, stumbling again. 

Hector steadied him. “Careful! Miss Lena wouldn’t like it if you fell flat on your face! She might blame us!”

“That’s the truth of it,” said Nicholas. “If not for her, I would have pounded him within an inch of his life the moment he walked into the guardhouse. You hear that, Carmine? Miss Lena’s the only thing saving you from a beating.” 

“She is?” Jack said wonderingly. “Gods, I want to marry that girl. I should tell her.”  

Hector grinned. “Oh, I think she knows, since you’re betrothed and all.” 

“How’d she end up with you anyway?” Chad said.

“That’s a little rude, don’t you think?” said Hector, a hopeless romantic.

“What? I’m curious!” Chad waved at one of the guards patrolling the border of the estate, along the line where the old wall used to be before the last lord had had it taken down. The house loomed large ahead of them. “Come on, Carmine! Tell us!” 

Jack spoke, but the words didn’t make sense. 

“What’d he say?” Nicholas asked.

“I think it was Leifenish, Corporal!” said Hector.

“I know it was Leifenish, dimwit! You studied Leifenish, didn’t you?”

Hector shook his head. “Only in books! I can’t speak it.” Jack babbled incomprehensibly, swaying so much that Hector put an arm around his shoulders. The yellow scarf came undone and fluttered out behind them where Chad picked it up. “And I thought I was a thimble guts! How much of that bottle did he drink?” said Hector.

“Not so much, but he doesn’t have your muscle,” said Nicholas. Though Hector was one of the smallest men in the unit and - taking his temperament into consideration - least suitable for the job, he did put his required time in at the training yard and had some bulk to him, unlike the bastard. 

When they reached the manor, with Jack cheerfully greeting the guards posted at the door, albeit in Leifenish, Hector wrangled him inside. “How are we going to get him to his room? I don’t think I trust him on the stairs.”

Nicholas chuckled. “Skinny guy like this? I could probably carry him one-handed.”

* * *

Lena rolled over, putting her back to the window. The moon was so bright. She thought about closing the curtains, but she was too hot to even think about stifling the meager breeze that blew in. She kicked off the sheets, flipped her pillow over to the cool side, and tried closing her eyes, though the tactic hadn’t been a successful one so far. She had so much on her mind. 

She thought over her trip back to the manor with Lord Orin. It turned out that the cathedral guardhouse had not been able to spare them an escort. Orin hadn’t been willing to stay in the lower town overnight - or, rather, hadn’t been willing to let  _ Lena _ stay there - and had insisted he was fit to travel back to the manor. He had not been fit; four times, they had had to stop somewhere, ducking into alleys or behind market stalls, so that Lena could cast Cure without being seen. She had thought if she could get him to the west gate guardhouse, she would find a guard or two there who would be willing to help them the rest of the way, but Orin would have none of that, and so they had plodded out of the city and down the long road to the manor on their own, which was just as well, since Orin had needed another Cure on the way.   

She thought of Jack, wondering what he would say if he heard she had used healing spells out in the open. Then she tried not to think of Jack, but that was another area where success seemed to elude her. What  _ could _ she think? He had kissed her! He had kissed her and it had been… exhilarating, that was the word. But only for her. It had been wonderful and beautiful and tenderly done, but for all of that, she had felt nothing from him. He had kissed her with the same emotionless control he used during his meals. And afterward…

Oh, she had felt him afterward, alright. He’d been horrified. 

_ “I can’t pretend to be more than we are…” _ He had said that to her once. She hadn’t wanted to believe he’d meant it in quite that way.  _ We’re still friends, _ she told herself, though that was cold comfort on a sleepless night when she wanted… she wanted so much more.

She was still thinking of it when she heard noises in the hall, thumping footsteps and voices, loud enough to set her nerves on edge.  _ One of the boys? _ she wondered. She thought at first that it must be Kane - Jack said he would wait at the ship if he wasn’t finished at the harbor by nightfall - but then she heard a voice that wasn’t Kane’s, a man speaking loudly in Leifenish, loud enough that it carried through the door. Someone else shushed him, but he answered the shushing with another Leifenish phrase just as loud as the first.

She heard the doorknob rattle and she sat up, for she realized she’d forgot to lock the door. Kane would have words for her later if he heard about that. The guardsman seemed to think the Brotherhood would snatch her right out of the house if she wasn’t constantly vigilant. The door opened. The light from the turned-down lamps in the hallway outlined two figures: one, tall and slender, being supported by another, taller and broad as a garden lane. “Corporal Clyne?” she said, rubbing her eyes against the dim glow.

The big man stopped in his tracks.  “Oh! Miss Lena! I… I didn’t know you’d be here…”

“Is that Jack?” 

“Yes, miss,” he said, dropping Jack’s sword and belt with a loud clatter. She could feel his embarrassment. “Um, your… Jack seems a bit worse for drink.” He felt guilty then, in such a way that left Lena little doubt about how Jack had ended up in that state.

“I see…” she said, standing and pulling the sheet around herself to cover her nightdress. “I suppose you’d better put him to bed, Corporal.”

The corporal nodded, striding quickly across the room so that Jack’s feet flailed uselessly, barely touching the floor. He grunted when Clyne dropped him unceremoniously on the bed, grumbling a few Leifenish words in a tone that eliminated the need for translation. Lena followed Clyne when he walked back to the door. Before she could close it behind him, he turned. “Don’t… Don’t be too hard on him, miss. I might have…  _ encouraged _ his drinking.”

She smiled then, pleased he had admitted his part in it. She felt it spoke volumes of his character. “Good night, Corporal,” she said, shutting the door and flipping the lock. She waited until she heard his heavy footsteps retreating down the hall, then went over to the bed. 

The mage was already asleep. She considered leaving him there and going through the connecting door to take the bed in the next room for herself, but then she imagined Kane coming in late and waking her up again. She further imagined Kane coming in drunk, escorted upstairs by Corporal Clyne or some other guard. She shuddered thinking of the scandal that would cause. While it was gossip hardly worth repeating for her to be found in one man’s bed, the rumors would never stop if they found her in two.

She stood over Jack, bending to shake his shoulders gently, softly saying his name. 

He was beautifully disheveled, stretched out with one arm above his head. His hair was mussed as always, but his scarf was missing and his collar was crooked. His eyes fluttered open. “Lena?”

Hearing him say her name when he looked like that, her cheeks suddenly felt hot. “Yes,” she said. 

_ “Dagona Lena.”  _ He smiled, sighing contentedly. He mumbled something else but his words were so low and so slurred that she couldn’t make them out. She could feel how drunk he was, his emotions a dull, senseless blur that pattered against the inside of her skull with a noise like rain on water.

She shook her head, trying, for a change, to shut him out. “Drank on an empty stomach, didn’t you? Come on. Let’s get you up.” She tried to get an arm under him, but the moment she’d done so, he reached for her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her across into the bed. She squealed, coming down beside him in a tangle of arms, legs, and sheets. “Jack!” 

_ “Dagona Lena,” _ he muttered sweetly at her. “ _ Edoa. De dagona Lena, wu dagona da quodi. Edoa. _ ” His forehead touched hers, just as it had earlier that day before he’d kissed her. She thought for a moment that he would kiss her again, but his eyes were already closing, and the arm that draped across her was heavy and still. 

“Jack?” she said again, not knowing why her heart pounded so hard. He smelled of alcohol and sweat, but underneath all that were the smells she most thought of as his: paper and ink and books. “Jack? I don’t understand. What are you trying to say?”

He sighed in his sleep, breathing out one last word: “Stay.” 

Oh, how she wanted to. But such a thing wasn’t proper. There was still the servant’s room down the hall, the room that was meant to be hers anyway. Kane wouldn’t like her sleeping so far from them, but…  _ Kane can eat a toad, _ she thought, feeling much less charitable than she knew a white mage should. 

“Jack?” she said, shaking him, but he couldn’t hear her. She could tell by the way her sense of him - that drunken jumble of emotions - had faded to the muted hum of a man asleep. She tried to move, but she was too close to him and his arm pinned her down. She sighed, watching the moonlight play over his sleeping face, uncovered and completely at peace. 

She wanted to reach up and let her fingers brush over his cheek, along his crooked mouth, down his jaw, but she knew he wouldn’t like it, the thought of her touching his scars. Again, she thought of the kiss. She thought of how they were together, how easy he was to talk to. She thought of how she felt about him, but then she thought of that kiss and knew he didn’t feel the same. 

She knew sleep for herself would be a long time coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _1/5/18 - As of Christmas day, I've been working on this thing for two years. Two. Years. And we're not to the dang earth cave yet. I sincerely apologize for the length of this story. I wish I knew how pacing worked. Amateur authors write amateur epic fantasy novels. I hope you'll stick it out a little longer (or, given my track record, a lot longer). Bear with me; I'm trying!_


	46. The Great Warrior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: The Great Warrior from Final Fantasy VII, also known as “Seto’s Theme”, which is a mellow/chill version of “Cosmo Canyon”. Click[here](https://youtu.be/U3pjt88ykcs) to hear the original on an extra long loop, or [here](https://youtu.be/A_aoO6UPd_o) for a fun drum cover. And while we’re at it, [here are](https://youtu.be/AvpL1bfc6YI) [my top three](https://youtu.be/evf81S77AXg) [favorite versions](https://youtu.be/irPoWMzNdx8) of Cosmo Canyon. Enjoy!_

Later, at the Quincey’s townhouse, Kane rubbed his bleary eyes, looking up from the file he’d been reading. The Avenue Inspectors were certainly busy around Melmond, as evidenced by the piles of paper covering the table. There were files detailing everything the inspectors knew about the fifteen recent missing persons cases in the lower town - Harvey and Gabriel were reading those - files on each of the white mages who had gone missing over the past several months, and another on the missing healing potions at the Chocobo. Kane had started with the fat and particularly detailed file describing the night plague incident at Titan’s Cathedral and had only just finished it. He stood, stretching to relieve his restless limbs. 

“Too much for you?” Gabriel asked from across the Quincey’s broad oval dining table, its polished surface obscured by papers.

“No,” Kane said. Though it was true that the file was incredibly disturbing, it was more that he was both unused to studying and unused to sitting still. “I just needed to stand a moment.” He went to the window that faced the darkened square in front of the townhouse and tried to clear the horrific images from his mind. 

“I told you, those chairs are the worst,” said Harvey from a corner of the room. “No slant to the back at all! It’s no wonder you Quinceys have such perfect posture, if that’s your idea of casual seating at home!” He was sprawled across a padded chaise that a pair of servants had carried in especially for him after he’d complained one too many times about the chairs. His own stack of files was spread out on the floor in front of him, in little groups and piles as though he were organizing them somehow.

“We hardly ever use this dining room unless father is in town with us,” Logan said, without looking up from his own papers.

“Where do you eat when he’s not with you?” Kane asked, wondering why they weren’t conducting their research in that part of the house.

“Out,” Logan and Gabriel said together. Gabriel threw his brother a withering glance, but the older Quincey didn’t notice, still involved with the reports in front of him, those on the dark mage attacks that had taken place every full moon for nearly a year.

Kane looked out at the street and thought about the file he’d just read. The incident had happened only a few weeks after the night plague first appeared in the countryside. A group of white mages, residents of the cathedral, had gone to the outer farms to treat it. The white mages who lived in the far-flung villages had been the plague’s first victims and the farmers had been desperate for aid. A few of those who went roaming died as well, but one, a woman named Selene, caught the disease and recovered. She returned to the cathedral, not knowing the plague would spread. 

Worshippers arriving for services the next morning had found all of the cathedral residents dead, all but one. Selene was wandering the halls, feverish and mad, ranting of an overwhelming thirst yet refusing all offers of drink. Her fever worsened, she tried to Cure herself, but she began vomiting blood and died soon after. 

Kane couldn’t help but picture Lena there, both as Selene and as one of the dead white mages in the cathedral.  _ I won’t let that happen to her, _ he thought, remembering his promise to Sarah, remembering what Jack had said about white mages in reference to the black mage’s Oath:  _ “They’re who we guard.”  _ Well, the black mages could rest easy about at least this one white mage. _ She’s who I guard. Her, and the other Warriors of Light. No matter what. _

Some minutes later, when he turned back to the table, he saw Logan squint at a page, flip open a different file and scan its contents, then go back to the first. “Gods, how many people are on this investigation team? I think I’ve yet to see two files with the same investigating officer.” 

“Thirteen,” Gabriel said. He froze in the act of reaching for the next file in his stack and added a muttered, “Or, I suppose, twelve at the moment,” as he seemed only then to remember he couldn’t technically count himself among them. 

Kane sighed. If a twelve-man team in the lower town and Pollendina’s small army of inspectors hadn’t solved these murders yet, what difference could they make in only one night? And they only had tonight; according to Logan, Lord Pollendina was away visiting his ailing father, but the files Logan had lifted from the thin lord’s office would have to be back in place first thing in the morning. 

He sat down again, took up one of the files Logan had already finished, and began to read a report of a man who was killed at home. His wife and daughter returned from visiting relatives in Half-Moon to find him dead in their dining room, the table and chairs shoved to the side to make space for the ritual circle that covered the floor, drawn in blood. The victim had been in the center of it, the ritual knife still in his chest. His body had still been warm.

Kane set the file aside, picked up another. This one, a woman, had been killed in an empty warehouse on the edge of where the lower town became the harbor district. No one had found her until the smell set in. The evidence suggested that the woman, a baker by trade with a successful establishment in the Blue Quarter, had no business being there.

It was all second-hand information. Though the Avenue Inspectors had been heavily involved in investigating the cathedral after the white mages’ demise, they were not technically part of the dark mage investigations. That job, and the original case files, belonged to Gabriel’s team at the guardhouse in the lower town. Kane read a few more files - consisting only of the copied notes and speculations of various inspectors - until the mix of handwriting started to look as foreign and strange to him as one of Jack’s Leifenish books. 

Logan, sitting at the table beside Kane, squirmed uncomfortably as he read. “I can’t believe the attacks were this bad,” the accountant said.

“You didn’t know about them?” Kane asked, opening the next file and finding a drawing of a ritual circle, the same one he’d seen in some of the other files.

Logan shook his head. “I knew  _ of _ them, but only because Gabriel mentioned them in his letters to mother.”

“Wait,” Gabriel said. “You actually read my letters?”

Logan snorted. “Of course I do! You’re my brother! Still, your letters home never mentioned the details…”

“No,” Gabriel said. “We don’t talk about those much. We try to keep it out of the public eye as best we can. Most of the city doesn’t concern itself with anything that happens in the lower town, so that helps.”

“But why keep quiet at all?” Kane asked. “Wouldn’t it have been better to warn people?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Warn them of what? Random chance? There’s no pattern to the victims. Half are men, half women, ranging in age from seventeen to seventy. At least two were killed in their own homes, behind locked doors. You know what you get when you try to warn people about something like that? Panic.”  

Kane scoffed. “Come on. Surely there must be  _ some _ pattern.”

* * *

Redden followed a city guard on his routine patrol. The guard didn’t seem to know Redden was there, but still, Redden proceeded cautiously, taking care with each step of his Vanished feet as he moved through the shadows behind the Saucer, the huge theater just outside the Blue Quarter. It was empty now, the last show of the evening having ended hours ago. He himself had watched as the last of the stagehands who cleaned up after the crowd left, locking the doors behind them and calling out farewells to each other as they went their separate ways toward home.  

The guard passed by a number of shops and houses, stopping occasionally to check that the doors were locked. He did the same at the Saucer, as Redden had known he would, and then he resumed his course, the same patrol route walked by the guards in this area night after night, a path running past the theater and down the block to the White Quarter, turning toward the cathedral and ending at the guardhouse. Redden had the route memorized by now. That was the key, he was sure. The victims may have been random, but the crime scenes followed a pattern: a patrol pattern.

He hadn’t told anyone his theory, not even the six men Leiden had given him to order around, young bucks from the West Hills who had all grown up on stories of the sons of Titan. They had gone with him to the cave, and Redden knew he had their loyalty, but he knew better than to suggest that the person scouting these locations for the Brotherhood had been one of their own, someone at the cathedral guardhouse who had walked these routes and checked these doors, whose business it was to know when a particular building might be unoccupied or a particular street was unlikely to be busy.

They would know soon enough. If he was right, if the Brotherhood struck here, he would tell them how he knew. He would show them the maps. He wouldn’t tell them what had given him the idea, how General Garland had supposedly been leading the hunt for the Brotherhood in Cornelia all these years while in reality he had been one of them.  _ What kind of man will the traitor be? _ Redden wondered.  _ A low ranking guard? A member of the investigation team? One of the captains? The commander himself? _

He was confident it wasn’t the guard he followed. A black mage would surely have noticed him by now, Vanished or not, and this man was oblivious. Redden kept close behind him, trying to match the rhythm the man’s footsteps beat out on the packed-earth streets. They took the turn that led away from the theater, toward the cathedral, and Redden waited for the signal. He didn’t know what it would be, but he knew there must surely be one, a light or a sound or a spell, some indication that the guardsman on patrol had passed and that the street was now clear for ill deeds.

They kept walking. When they were nearly a street over, the patrolman whistling a tavern tune as he checked the door on a pawnbroker’s shop, Redden began to wonder if he’d been wrong - he’d been so sure! - but then a pigeon cooed three times in quick succession.

At least, it would have sounded very like the cooing of a pigeon to all but the most attentive ear. Redden smiled, stopping where he was. He waited as the guardsman walked on, and if the whistling man noticed that his footsteps didn’t echo quite as they had before, he gave no sign of it. When the man was several paces away, Redden turned and crept silently back toward the theater where his own men were lying in wait.

* * *

“Officially, there have been ten of these attacks, one every month,” Gabriel said. He rifled through the papers on the table, pulled out a single-page map of the lower town, and pointed. Ten sites were circled. “A few of the men on the team speculate that there were others before, going back to when the white mages died - there are some unsolved murders from around then with similar knife wounds,” here he gestured at four other locations with question marks drawn on them, “but we weren’t sure what we were looking at in the beginning. By the time we realized they might be connected, the evidence had been muddled.”

He chose two of the files and opened them so that both displayed descriptions of the crime scenes. “It was obvious that these two victims shared a killer - they were the firsts to involve ritual circles, and they were both found in unoccupied rent houses. Neither were found right away, so we couldn’t pin down a time of death. That’s why no one made the full moon connection, not at first.”

Kane nodded, remembering a conversation he’d had with Jack on the ship one evening, a moonless night when working the aether had left the mage particularly exhausted. Magic could be affected by the phase of the moon, Jack said. Kane hadn’t known such a thing before that; he doubted it was common knowledge to anyone besides mages. He looked at the two files, comparing their locations to the map. They weren’t far apart. Additionally, both victims had been discovered behind locked doors, with no signs of forced entry. “Did you look into who owned the buildings?”

“We did,” Gabriel said, pulling a page from one of the files. “We thought that was our first breakthrough, actually. The buildings had different owners, but later we learned that although they were unoccupied at the time of each murder, they were both being rented by the same man.”

“And? What happened when you questioned the man?”

Gabriel shook his head, handing Kane another file. “We never got a chance. He was the next victim.”

* * *

Redden ducked into the alley where he knew Killian waited, but not so quietly that it would have warranted the West Hills man’s surprise when Redden asked, “Did you see them?”

Killian gasped, his hand going to his sword, but he didn’t draw it. “Yes,” he said when he’d taken a breath to calm himself. “Bugger me, you were right. They’re actually here.” He looked up and down the dark alleyway, his eyes never quite settling on the place where Redden stood. “You really are invisible. You said you’d be Vanished, but I didn’t realize the spell was quite so… complete.”   

Redden Dispelled himself. “You should have heard me coming at least.”

Killian blushed. “I… I did, but when I didn’t see anything… I guess I assumed it was an echo from down the street. It won’t happen again.”

“Which way did they go in?”

“The front, sir. It was just as you said. They had a key. Walked right in, bold as you please.”

“How many?”

“Five.”

Redden nodded. He and the guards were seven. They could handle five.

But then Killian frowned. His hand went to his chin as he seemed to consider something. “Unless… Unless any of them were Vanished like you were. Do you really think they might have magic like that at their disposal?”

“They may,” Redden said. “But that’s where we’ll have the advantage.” He patted at his belt, feeling that the leather pouch was still there, the little satchel of Rot. All of the guards with him tonight had one.

Killian’s hand went to his, right next to his sword. “What if they have other weapons? I’ve never fought an invisible foe before. I can’t imagine it.”

Redden waved a hand dismissively. “I doubt they’re trained to fight while Vanished, not like I am. Even if they have weapons, they’ll still rely on their magic. But I have my magic as well, and white magic isn’t affected by the Rot. If I find them, I can Dispel them. You just have to keep alert. The Vanished still cast a shadow. Remember, what can fool the eye can’t fool the light.”

Killian shook his head. “I still can’t believe you figured out where they’d be… Malcolm has the team focusing on Grimalkin Lane, where most of those boys went missing.”

Redden shrugged. “I had a hunch. Come on. Let’s meet the others.”

* * *

Kane looked closer at the map. The circles and the four question marks were scattered more or less evenly across the lower town, except that there were none in the area known as the White Quarter. Those few blocks between the guardhouse and the cathedral were littered with crosses. “Are these the recent missing persons cases?”

Gabriel nodded. “Last known locations.”

Kane counted them: fifteen, all within three streets of each other. More than half were concentrated on a street labeled Grimalkin Lane which ran from the cathedral to some kind of market. Altogether, the various symbols made the lower town look as hacked and slashed as one of the murder victims. Kane pointed toward one of the crosses. “So what’s the connection between these and the murders?”

Gabriel’s mouth pressed into a line. “I’m not sure there is one.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous! Of course they’re connected!” said Harvey, leaping up to join them at the table. “The White Quarter’s simply buzzing with magical activity! It’s almost as if it all boiled over the moment father took you off duty!”

“Exactly!” said Gabriel.  “Doesn’t that seem strange to you? The Brotherhood avoided that area for more than a year! What are they doing there now? I doubt the dark mages were only waiting until I had my back turned!”

“Everyone avoids that area,” Logan said, shrugging. “The rumors say there’s some sort of residual white magic around the cathedral. I heard the inspectors talking about it.”

“I’ve heard that too,” said Harvey. “That’s what a lot of people say!”

“Perhaps it’s worn off?” Logan concluded.

Kane blinked, surprised that anyone could talk about something as harmless as white magic in such fearful tones. “That’s… That’s wrong. White magic doesn’t just flutter about. You get white magic from white mages. That’s what makes it white magic.”

Gabriel looked at him suspiciously. “What would you know about white magic?”

“More than you three, apparently. I grew up around white mages. They’re all over Cornelia. And despite that, we still have trouble with the Brotherhood there. Whatever protections white mages may or may not give off, they apparently don’t work against dark mages.”

The sergeant nodded, seeming satisfied with that answer. “Fine. So, either the dark mages have decided to hunt people down in the White Quarter all of a sudden, or these disappearances aren’t related to them at all.” 

“What else could it be?” Harvey said, holding up one of the files. “One of these fellows literally went missing in the time it took his companions to blink! That sounds like magic to me!”

* * *

They didn’t use the theater’s front door, nor the back. Although Redden suspected there was little danger of the Brotherhood actually bothering to set watches on either entrance, he had nevertheless instructed the men to gather at the small service entrance on the building’s north side. They were all there; Redden and Killian were the last to arrive. No one said a word, but Redden nodded in greeting before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the key he had acquired - with very little persuading - from the theater manager earlier that day. The man was so nervous about legal repercussions from the events of Midsummer that all it had taken was Leiden’s seal on a letter.

Redden opened the door quietly, looking inside, then motioned the men to follow him. Within, it was dark, but two of the men carried shuttered lanterns; one opened his just enough to show the way. They were somewhere backstage, in a hallway full of props closets and dressing rooms. Redden held up a hand to halt the men behind him, then extended his senses cautiously, feeling the aether. No one waited nearby - he could feel that much - no sentries, no ambush, but there was a spell up there somewhere ahead of them, a big one. This was the ritual, the mysterious spell that required a full moon and a human sacrifice.

* * *

“Look, I know I haven’t told you much about the full moon attacks,” Gabriel said, “but those people don’t just go missing. We always find the bodies later, always with obvious signs of magic being involved - ritual circles and evidence of herbs. And the blood…” The sergeant sat back, crossing his arms over his chest as he grimaced. “Blood absolutely everywhere, like at a slaughterhouse…”

* * *

Redden didn’t know what it was for. The ritual circle he’d seen drawings of in the files had been a basic one, one he’d seen recommended for any number of scryings and wardings. He’d asked Jack about it, and Jack had said the same, though Redden wasn’t sure how far he could trust the expertise of a young mage who couldn’t even function without a focus object on an ordinary day.

He waved the men forward again. Soon, he could hear voices chanting an incantation. He could see a light up ahead from the direction of the stage and he signaled the man with the lantern to shutter it again.

They moved toward the stage with painstaking slowness, but when Redden and the others reached the heavy curtains and looked out, they found the dark cultists not on the stage but in the pits, the large, open area of the floor where the poorest theater-goers watched the plays from standing room only. The five men, dressed in their cowled robes, continued to chant, a strange, sonorous litany that seemed like heavily accented Leifenish - Redden thought he should be able to understand it, but none of it made sense - as they walked slowly in a circle.

Redden gestured the men to hold their positions. They had planned this. They would wait until the victim turned up, wait to catch these Brotherhood members in the act of attempted murder. They all expected it to be a young man, one of those who had gone missing in the past few days, and Redden half hoped it would be Felder or Cole, the missing crewmen that he hadn’t had the heart to tell Kane about when he’d seen his son earlier. Redden looked about the dark theater, lit only by the moonlight coming through a domed window in the gallery’s high ceiling, but he couldn’t see anyone else, no potential victims tied up and struggling in the corner. He caught a glimpse of Killian’s face as the young man from the West Hills likewise searched the room with his eyes. He looked to Redden, shaking his head: he couldn’t see anyone either.

* * *

“These recent cases though?” Gabriel said, pointing at the crosses on the map. “They don’t have any of that. No bodies, no circles, no signs of violence! The victims are just gone! They could all have decided to take a nice holiday on the north shore for all we know!”

Harvey laughed at that. “Have you been reading the same files I have?” He opened the file he held and waved its contents at them. “This man was out with friends at the time! He disappeared from under their noses! There’s another file over there for a boy who vanished from his attic bedroom without coming downstairs first! Did he go through the roof? It’s magic, Gabriel!”

“I know!” Gabriel snapped. “Of course it’s magic! People disappearing out of locked rooms and dead end alleyways? It has to be magic, I never said otherwise! It’s just, well, I’ve been hunting the Brotherhood for months now! This isn’t like them! These victims? These locations? They’re not random enough! They  _ do _ follow a pattern!”

Kane reached for one of the files; he hadn’t looked at them yet. “Father said the victims were all young men?”

“Right!” Harvey said, nodding. “Late teens or early twenties.”

“With a few exceptions,” Gabriel put in. “The boy from the attic was the youngest, fourteen, a blacksmith’s apprentice who looked older than he was. The oldest, a fresh-faced dandy in his early thirties who scarcely looked older than twenty according to his friends.”

“Maybe the Brotherhood are choosing victims for their sacrifices?” Logan suggested. “Maybe it took them this long to figure out what kind of person they needed?”  

“Alright,” Kane said. “Were any of the full moon victims young men?”

Gabriel pushed back from the table and began pacing the floor. “Well, sure! There were also old men, and middle-aged men, and young women, and old women-”

“Alright, we get it,” Logan grumbled. “It was just an idea.”

* * *

Redden tried not to grind his teeth in frustration. If they hadn’t brought the victim in yet, that meant more were coming. Seven trained soldiers could handle five mages, but more would be a stretch, even if the soldiers did have the element of surprise on their side. The thought of ordering these men to back away slowly, to retreat and leave some innocent soul to die in this theater, had him grinding his teeth anyway.

The incantation changed, drawing his attention back to the cultists. Four of them were still chanting together, each carrying a copper bowl. Those bowls would contain herbs, Redden was sure, though what kind he couldn’t say. The fifth cultist, chanting his own incantation in harmony with the others, carried a knife. He stood motionless outside the circle the others walked, knife raised, and one by one, as the others passed him by, they held their left hands out to him. He sliced a deep gash in each one. The knife dripped with their blood, the cut hands dripped, and the drips formed a circle as the cultists walked.

Three times they walked the circle, and still no victim was brought in. The four who walked the circle knelt inside it, each placing their bowls outside of the ring of blood, and they drew aetheric designs in the thick red ink they’d made until the circle looked complete. The chanting went on. The four inside the circle stepped out of it. They knelt by the bowls, one at each of the four compass points. Redden felt the aether move through the room, saw the cultists’ eyes light with a black corona. But where was the victim?

The man with the knife kept chanting. He chanted as he pulled back his black hood, chanted as he opened his robe. He was not naked underneath, but he wore no shirt. The robe slid to the floor and he kept chanting as he kicked it aside. He chanted as he stepped into the circle and knelt in the center.

“By all the gods,” Killian whispered, not loud enough that he would have been heard over the chanting. “It isn’t murder. It’s suicide…”

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The aether moved with the force of a gale wind. They had to stop this from happening. Whatever the Brotherhood was planning, whatever the cultists’ thought was worth killing for, worth  _ dying _ for, they had to stop it.

The man in the circle raised the knife high.

“NOW!” Redden called.

* * *

They spent more time reading, all but Gabriel, who continued to pace the floor, grumbling. Kane had nearly worked through all the full moon files. A few shared slight connections - like that of the man renting the buildings that two of the other victims were found in - but the links seemed tenuous at best. Kane suspected Gabriel was right: there was no pattern. It seemed clear the Brotherhood wasn’t choosing random people off the street - none of the victims had been travelers, or homeless beggars. Three had apparently been upright businessmen, pillars of the community. 

It was likely several of the victims had known each other - the three businessmen, probably; the baker from the Blue Quarter and the woman from the food market, perhaps - but Kane didn’t think that mattered. Melmond might be a large city, but social circles tended to be unpredictable wherever you went. He and Shipman had known each other for months and interacted several times before they ever discovered they were both Warriors of Light, while he and Lena had lived only a block apart and never met before that day in the harbor square.

Still, something about his own connections to his friends tickled at his brain. If someone wrote up the details of Kane’s life from birth until his meeting with the others, for example, there would have been nothing in that file linking him to Jack. The thing that had brought them together wasn’t their jobs or their social status. Their only connection was invisible: it was prophecy, it was... 

“Magic,” he said out loud. “What if it’s magic? What if that’s what connects them all?”

The other three looked at him strangely. “We know it’s magic,” Gabriel said. “That’s what we’ve been talking about.”

“Perhaps you ought to head off to bed?” Harvey suggested kindly.

“No, not like that!” Kane said. “I mean, what if they’re mages? The victims?”

“Which ones? The murdered or the missing?” Harvey asked.

“Both! Look, this all started when the last of the white mages here went missing, didn’t it? The rumors in Cornelia say the Brotherhood take people with magical talent. Black mages, mostly. I’ve never heard of any white mages going missing, but there’s no reason that couldn’t be the case.”

Logan scoffed. “Please. You really think we had more than twenty mages living in plain sight in this city and nobody knew it?”

“Why not?” Kane said. He knew of at least two mages hidden in plain sight at Melmond Manor, three if he counted Shipman... which he didn’t. “You’ve as good as said you suspect Lord Pollendina might be a mage. How do you know there aren’t others? They’re not… I mean, it’s not as if they have horns or anything! They look just like everyone else!”

“Yes, but you wouldn’t get mages living ordinary lives as… as bakers and salesmen!”

Gabriel, his gaze fixed on the map, very quietly said, “Why is it so hard to believe?”

“No one could hide something like that!” Logan said. He tossed the file he was holding onto the table, watching his brother, but Gabriel didn’t look up. “Could they? Gods, don’t tell me  _ you’re _ a mage?”

Gabriel shook his head. “No… Not me.”

That sadness in his eyes, that defensive hunch to his shoulders.  _ He knows someone, _ Kane thought. 

Logan had seen it too. His eyes narrowed, his forehead creased in thought. But when he opened his mouth to say something, Harvey interrupted him. The young Leiden was looking at the papers on the table and had missed the telling expressions that passed between the two brothers.

“Well, alright. If you want to work from that theory... But then wouldn’t we have to suspect every single person who’s gone missing under mysterious circumstances in the past year of being a mage?”

Gabriel’s face went blank. His eyes widened. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, we would.” He straightened and turned for the door. “We’re looking at the wrong files!”

* * *

The man in the circle kept chanting, even as Redden and the guards rushed forward, leaping from the stage. The four cowled heads of the other mages turned toward them, the shadows of their hoods concealing their faces so that only their corona-ringed eyes were visible, glowing with a wicked black light.

Redden reached the circle at a run. The nearest mage moved to intercept him, but Redden only had eyes for the man in the middle. He drew his sword. His other hand gripped the pouch at his belt. With one swift tug, he broke the leather straps that tied it in place, then swung it like a club at the nearest mage. He felt the aether move in response to some spell but then the blow connected and the little pouch burst open, spilling its vile contents over the man’s mouth and nose. The cultist choked. The black corona flickered and went out as the man coughed and gasped against the Rot that covered his face. 

The man in the circle kept chanting. Redden lunged at him, managing to knock the dagger from his hand. The little blade clattered to the floor on the circle’s edge. Redden went for the man then, throwing himself forward for a full-bodied tackle, but he didn’t get that far. A bolt of energy like blue lightning arced into him from across the circle, knocking him from his feet. His teeth cracked together as he landed. He was peripherally aware of one of his own men coming down hard beside him. 

“Don’t stop!” a voice shouted. “We mustn’t stop! We have to finish!”

_ “Cheela!” _ Redden shouted, calling up fire, but the stench and nearness of even the little satchels of Rot they’d brought with them was enough to make it hurt to do so. He flung the flame wildly against the mage slinging the lightning. It flashed, brief and bright, enough to disrupt the cultist’s spells before it flared out, enough to distract him while Killian moved in behind and swung his sword through the man’s neck. 

Redden’s wasn’t the only fire. Two of the West Hills men wove and dodged, swinging their Rot-filled satchels, trying to land a blow against a third cultist who fought with fire in his hands. The fourth had retreated across the room toward one of the exits, tossing balls of fire at one of Redden’s soldiers while another blocked the door.  

Still, the man in the circle kept chanting. Redden pulled himself up again, lurching forward. The man who had fallen to the lightning beside him would never get up again.  _ “Ayu yanudu nasginai eluwei!”  _ Redden called, the invocation for Silence. The chanting became a choked rasp, but still the man tried to go on.

Killian stepped forward, sword raised.

“No!” Redden shouted. “Don’t kill him! You might finish his work for him!”

The young soldier lowered his sword, looking alarmed. 

“Tie him up!” Redden ordered. 

“No!” a voice squawked. He looked down and saw that it was the mage he’d hit with the Rot. The man was still wheezing, but he spoke between breaths. “No, please! You... don’t know... what you’re doing!” He coughed again, so hard it sounded painful, then collapsed weakly into the floor.

There was a shout as one of the other cultists died, the one with flaming hands. The two men who had been fighting him turned their attentions to the last one, whom their two comrades had pinned down in a corner near the stage. The man was still throwing fireballs, despite the copious splatters of Rot that speckled the front of his robes; a red corona made the fear in his expression more prominent. “Porter!” the man cried. “Porter! Get us out of here!” 

The man in the circle was still chanting, a desperate, rasping whisper against the Silence spell, even as Killian tied his hands. The spell hadn’t stopped; Redden felt it in the aether. “Do you still have your satchel?” he asked Killian.

“Yes, sir,” Killian said, pulling it from his belt and tossing it over. 

Redden caught it out of the air, undid the drawstrings, and poured it out over the chanting man’s head. He gagged, but kept chanting. The aether still moved.

“Get him out of the circle!” Redden said, reaching for him.

A hand tugged at his ankle, the mage who had spoken before. His voice sounded raw from coughing. “Stop! He needs our power to control her! He’s the only thing keeping her in check!”

Redden kicked him in the face, rushing forward to help Killian drag the other man away from the bloody design in the floor. The man struggled against them like a cat in a sack, but still he kept chanting.

* * *

Kane rose to follow Gabriel as he strode for the door but was nearly bowled over as Logan did the same. The older Quincey leaped past, grabbing Gabriel’s arm. “Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done here!”

Gabriel tried to shake him off, but Logan held fast. “I have to get to the guardhouse!” Gabriel said. “The commander receives word of unsolved cases all over the state! If I compare those missing persons files to these recent ones-”

“What? Right now?” Harvey said. “You can’t seriously mean to head to the White Quarter in the middle of the night after all we’ve learned here? And with the full moon?”

“Harvey’s right,” Kane said. “Besides, we haven’t finished looking at the white mage files. We might find-”

“I’ve read every one of the white mage files!” Gabriel snapped. “I know them by heart!”

“Yes, you always have been pro-mage,” Logan said, his voice quiet and dangerous. “I’m only now starting to ask myself why that might be.”

“Let me go!” Gabriel tore his arm free but didn’t leave. “There are plenty of similarities between the missing white mages in the countryside and the recent disappearances if anyone knows what they’re looking for. If there are more cases like these, the investigation team needs to know!”

“People go missing all the time, Gabriel!” Logan said. “Generally, when they’ve had too much to drink and they end up press-ganged on a ship bound for the Stone Coast!”

“Oh, yes?” Gabriel sneered. “And when was the last time you heard of a ship out of the Stone Coast docking here?”

“That’s beside the point!” Logan yelled.

Gabriel yelled back, “That’s exactly the point! Where else can these people be?”

There was a loud crack as Harvey slammed both hands on the table. The Quinceys turned to stare at him, but he seemed embarrassed rather than angry. “Goodness! That was loud,” he said. He cleared his throat, then turned and faced the two brothers. “But it did catch your attention, which was the intent. Gabriel, you’re not going anywhere.” The sergeant began to argue, but Harvey raised a hand to silence him. “Not tonight at least. And not alone. We’ll both go. Kane, you’ll come too, yes? Wonderful. All three of us. But tomorrow, in broad daylight. Agreed?”

Gabriel, breathing hard from temper, glared at his friend, but then he nodded agreement and strode from the room.

“Wait!” Logan called, his voice still angry.

“Let him go,” Harvey said. 

“We’ve more to talk about!” Logan growled. 

“Like what?” Harvey said. “This mysterious white mage you think he knows? Because I’ll tell you this: if he does know one, it’s news to me. Do you really think he’ll tell  _ you _ something he hasn’t even shared with  _ me _ yet? Let him go.”

Logan stood, fists clenched at his sides. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Tomorrow,” he said. “I’m going with you. But then he and I are having that talk, and I swear to Titan if you get in the way…” He didn’t finish. He shook his head and walked out more calmly than his brother had.

Harvey went back to the chaise and flopped into it, rubbing his hands wearily over his face. “That went about as well as one would expect,” he said. 

“Better,” said Kane. “I’d say you defused it just in time.” 

Harvey shrugged. “I’ve been defusing those two since we were children. I’m old hat at it by now.” 

Kane shook his head. “It was more than that. You took charge, and they listened to you. You may think you’re unfit as a lord of Melmond, but that was a very lordly thing you did just now.”

Harvey smiled, but his smile had lost its usual energy. “And what of you? I notice you did more than stand sentry for us while we did all the work! You may have cracked the case open with your theory about the mages - I could tell that Gabriel thinks so!” He bent over and began gathering up the papers he’d left scattered about the floor in front of his chair and putting them back in their respective files. “I should get all these back in the boxes. I wouldn’t want Logan to get in trouble with Vince.”

Kane began shifting the files on the table, gathering them up, separating the missing persons files from the full moon murders. “I notice Logan wasn’t sold on my idea,” he said. 

There was no answer but the sound of shuffling papers, then Harvey calmly said, “Logan... probably doesn’t know any mages.”

“You think Gabriel does?”

“I don’t know what Gabriel knows,” Harvey said, shrugging. “If he’s met a mage out in the city somewhere, it’s his secret. But I know a lot of people. I did meet a mage once, a perfectly ordinary servant. He worked at the house for awhile. You’re right - they look just like everyone else.” 

“Where is he now?” Kane asked. He boxed up the files from the table, but Harvey was still working on his so Kane knelt in the floor to help.

“Dead more than a year now,” Harvey said. “Well before this mess with the Brotherhood started. A highway robbery, I understand. He was on his way to visit family. You needn’t help with these. I’ve got them.”

“It’s no trouble,” Kane said, only then realizing he hadn’t looked at the missing persons files at all, preoccupied with the murder cases and the reports of the night plague. “Why did you have them all spread out like this? Do the piles mean anything?”

“Oh, just little similarities I noticed.” Harvey pointed at a pair of files to his left and said, “These were the same age.” He then indicated three files beside the pair. “These probably knew each other based on their social backgrounds. Things like that. I may not know a lot about lording, but I know about people.”

Kane chuckled. “Lording isn’t everything. What else jumped out at you?”

“Well, nothing to indicate any of them might have been a mage on the side, if that’s what you’re asking. Some are rich, some poor. Described as being broad, skinny, tall, short - a range of appearances! - and a slew of professions as well, from scholars to sailors!” He stopped, staring at the file in his hand as though he no longer saw it. “Sailors…” He set that file down gently, and very slowly reached for two others he’d set off to the side. He opened one and read the first page, then looked at Kane with a worried expression. “Kane, those sailor friends of yours you told me about… what did you say their names were?”

* * *

Finally, the aether slowed. The man Killian and Redden held between them still chanted, his words grumbling like footsteps on a gravel path as he forced them out around the silence spell, but Redden could feel the ritual ending. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

The mage in the corner cried, “No!” as the aether stilled. “We have to do this! You’ll bring her down on all of us!” He flung one last fireball at the four West Hills men who had him trapped, but he was distracted in his panic. The spell flew wide, and the men closed in. The mage cried, “Porter!” one last time before he was cut down.

The last mage, the one with Rot in his face, moaned at the edge of the circle, choking on blood as well as the muck. Redden suspected he’d broken the man’s nose with that last kick. He raised his sword, but then lowered it again. Here was where his plan broke down. Arthur wanted at least one of the mages alive for questioning. The Rot did seem an effective method of control, but Redden didn’t know how long the effects would last.  _ Long enough for Arthur to satisfy his curiosity, I hope, _ Redden thought. Still, they had two mages left alive, and the one who had been ready to die in that circle for his beliefs - the one still ardently trying to continue his incantation - seemed an unlikely candidate for answering questions. This other one, though, seemed talkative enough. 

“I need rope here,” Redden called. One of the men, a soldier named Connor, brought some over. Redden knelt and began tying up the mage with the broken nose. He found himself wishing he’d brought Jack along for that sleep spell of his, even if it did mean everyone discovered the boy was a black mage. Consequences be damned. 

“Would you shut up already?” Connor snapped at the still-chanting man. “You’ve lost!”

“Gag him if you have to,” Redden ordered.

“You’ll wish you hadn’t,” said the mage in front of him, spitting bloody phlegm onto the floor.

“And gag this one too,” Redden added.

The soldier turned, searching the floor for something that might make a suitable gag. The others were spread out, with one searching the spacious auditorium for anything that might be important and the other three checking the bodies of the fallen mages. 

As Redden finished tying up the man with the broken nose, he glanced at the soldier who had fallen to that lightning strike. Redden knew little about him except that he was called Grady and that he’d followed orders. Grady had been closer to the lightning mage at the time of the strike, taking the brunt of it; it was the only thing that had saved Redden. If that charge had hit him head on, he’d be the one lying there.

The chanting mage swung his head from side to side violently as Connor and Killian tried to force the gag into his mouth. He fell hard on his side, unable to catch himself with his hands tied behind his back, but still he flopped on the floor like a spoiled toddler. 

“Give it up, Fisher!” the mage in front of Redden said. “We’ve lost! The spell’s broken!”

Only then did the chanting stop. It stopped only for the chanter to exclaim,  _ “No!” _ The word came out harsh and guttural from the Silence that still clung to him, but when he again cried, “No!” it was in a clear, fanatical voice.

The aether moved, not with the force it had during the ritual, but it flowed through and from Redden and his men into the mage called Fisher. His eyes flashed as the men cried out in pain. The ropes at his wrists crumbled to ash. He threw himself into the circle, at the dagger that lay forgotten just inside the bloody circumference. Redden struggled against the pain of the draw, struggled to get his sword ready to fight back. 

The mage called Fisher thrust the knife into his own side. He folded over it, grunting, then wrenched his arm across. When he pulled his hand free, the dagger was still in it; the slice he’d made across his torso burst open like a tomato left too long on the vine. 

Killian cried out, rushing to the mage, trying to drag him from the circle.

“Leave him!” Redden said. “It’s fine! We’ve stopped it!”

“Yes,” said the last mage, the one they called Porter. “You stopped it.” He looked up at Redden from where he knelt in the floor. “You did this,” he said, his voice wooden. “When she comes, you remember that it was your fault.” 

There was a flash like a bolt of lightning, a smell like a summer storm, and the mage was gone. The rope that had tied his hands was all that remained.

The soldiers panicked anew, exclaiming as they looked rapidly about the room. 

“He’s Teleported!” Redden barked. He knew a Teleport when he saw one. And yet, how? There’d been no corona, no incantations, no signs. Redden hadn’t even felt the aether move. “Pair up and search the area!” he ordered. “Killian, with me. He can’t have gone far.” 

The men nodded, hurrying to obey, the two pairs each taking different exits. Redden walked toward the stage, the way they came in. He looked back when he realized Killian wasn’t with him. The young soldier was still at the edge of the circle, looking down at the fallen Grady. Young though he was, Killian was the leader of this little unit, or had been until Arthur had lent them to Redden. He cared about these men. “Killian, the search first,” Redden said.

Killian nodded, coming away from the corpse, but at that moment something about the scene caught Redden’s attention, the bloody circle made bloodier by the bodies nearby, the aetheric designs obscured by the glut of red. His mind called back to him an image of what they had found in the cave: bodies and pieces of bodies surrounding the old altar. Had that been a ritual circle as well?

“If we come across a messenger as we’re searching, I’d like to send word to the guardhouse,” Killian said, falling in beside him.

Redden nodded absently, preoccupied with other thoughts, wondering now what sort of ritual these Brotherhood mages had been attempting, a ritual one of them had been willing to die for.  _ “You’ll bring her down on all of us,” _ one had said. Who, or what, was “her”? Something they were trying to hold back with their magic? Had they been trying to hold it in the cave? 

_ Whatever it was, _ Redden thought,  _ it’s free now. And I think it’s here in Melmond. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _2/2/18 - In my ongoing quest to name all my chapters after appropriate songs from Final Fantasy soundtracks, this one, "The Great Warrior," Seto's theme from FFVII, doesn't quite seem to fit the mood. It's a very laid back song for a chapter with murder investigations and magical fight scenes in it. However, I have a Final Fantasy playlist I listen to as I write. Each character has a theme, and "Cosmo Canyon" (from which "The Great Warrior" is derived) is Redden's. Redden and FFVII's RedXIII have a lot in common, setting aside for a moment that fact that one is rather fuzzier than the other. They're both unsure where they fit in the scheme of things, having big ideals they feel pressured to live up to, and both are wounded by mysterious events in their pasts. But I also see parallels in the father/son relationships between Seto and RedXIII vs. Redden and Kane. In the same way RedXIII is disappointed in what he sees as his father's cowardice (not at first knowing of Seto's sacrifice to save him), Kane struggles with his disappointment in Redden, seeing him only as the Cornelian court bard. Sure, he values his father's knowledge and wisdom, but he's not privy to the flashbacks I've shared with you readers, and therefore doesn't respect where that knowledge comes from. Redden IS a great warrior, even if Kane, and Redden himself, have trouble seeing that._


	47. The Unforgiven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: The Unforgiven from Final Fantasy VI, which is some intense fight scene music. Why would I have picked something like that? Gosh… Click[here](https://youtu.be/LPUQMaatT5A) to hear it._

_ The Earth Cave, Twenty-four Years Ago _

The dead waited until Redden’s group was past the first cavern, and then they closed in - from ahead, from behind, moving in out of every dark crevice and corner. Cid led the charge against them, his sword flashing in the light of the torches and lanterns and the flame of Redden’s spellblade. The flaming sword cast enough light that Redden was able to see the faces of the creatures he ran through, faces he had known when they were living men.

When he’d fought his way clear and he stood in the next chamber with those who could still stand, struggling to catch his breath, he said, “Those were Argus’s troops.”

Cid nodded, his own breathing less labored than Redden’s but still heavy. The air in the cave was stagnant, like trying to breath through old, dry paper.

“An ambush,” someone said in the darkness. “Hiding until we got past them? It was an ambush!”

“They’ve never done that before,” said Arthur. “They always charge like mindless animals as soon as they catch sight of us.”

“They  _ are _ mindless animals,” Cid said. “Something’s controlling them.”

Redden nodded, still gulping for air. His brother hadn’t trained to use the aether like he had, but Redden knew Cid could feel it. 

“But what do we do?” one of the men asked. “If it’s a trap-”

“There’s only one thing we can do,” Cid said, pointing ahead with his sword. “We press on. Right, brother?”

Redden nodded. Then, because the men didn’t seem convinced, he stood up straighter and said, “Yes. We can do this. We have to.”

A shriek echoed through the stone walls, shrill and piercing. Several of the men covered their ears. When the sound faded, another rose behind, a snapping and clicking that whispered through the still air like a swarm of cockroaches fleeing into the night. Not roaches, Redden knew, but corpses, the movement of bone on bone without the warmth of flesh to aid it.

“Where’s it coming from?” Arthur said, backing close to Redden. “Are they ahead? Or behind?”

“Both,” Redden said.  

“Redden, start the ritual,” Cid said, crouching in a defensive stance as he faced the depths of the cave.

“We’re not deep enough!”

“We won’t get any deeper tonight! Something’s changed!” He shouted to the men, “Form up! Protect Redden! Arthur, stay with him.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Cid-” Redden began, filled with doubt all over again now that the task was at hand.

Cid shook his head. “Now, brother. Now!”

As if it were a signal, the dead surged forward, screaming. 

Redden closed his eyes, focusing on the aether. He could feel the living auras of the men who fought beside him, but he could also feel the spells that moved the dead, unsubtle fists hammering against the lifestream of the world. He tried to shut them out, tried to shut it all out, and focus on the ritual. 

White magic needed no circles, no herbs. It needed only the living aether, the reserves a mage carried inside. It needed will, and it needed words. He knew the incantation forwards and backwards, this spell Bram had invented but hadn’t named. He focused on himself, he took a deep breath, and when he exhaled, the first words of the incantation flowed from his lips. 

The screaming intensified. Redden could feel the dead moving with renewed purpose. 

“Keep them back!” Cid shouted, and they did. The men closed ranks, forming a wall, shoulder to shoulder, with Redden and Arthur in the center of it.   

For a time, there was only the aether, the work of moving it with his thoughts and the force of the words. There was no time now, as there had often been in the past, to regret his inability to see it. The sounds of battle faded around him as he concentrated. He finished the incantation and began it again, shaping the aether to his will, building another sort of wall, a barrier that wasn’t Protect but that protected and shielded against the evils magic could commit. He formed the first tentative layers and pushed them outward. The creatures screamed again, backing away from it.

“It’s working!” someone shouted. “It’s work-” 

The shout ended on a wet, pained gurgle.

Redden fell to one knee, reeling. He had never felt someone die before. He’d seen it - more often in the past year than he could count - but never when he’d been focused on the aether like this. The man’s soul shattered like a lamp releasing the heat of its too-hot flame out into the world. 

Redden held the spell, but barely. He restarted the incantation, unable to remember where he’d left off. He’d only managed the first line when another man died. The shock of it hit Redden like he’d stepped out in a strong, cold wind - he could neither breathe nor speak. 

Arthur stepped from him, joining the fight, filling the gap one of the men had left behind, but Redden focused on the spell, reciting the incantation in his head until he could recover his voice. He clung to his sword, letting the focus spells aid him as he knelt there against the cold stone floor. He could feel the dead slamming against his weak barrier, could hear his companions beating them back. 

And then… He could feel it: the spell was nearly complete. He’d done it. The barrier began to form up. One more recitation, that was all he needed. His voice found new strength. He focused his will. 

A few more of his men fell. He felt their absence. There were none to his left, where the barrier was weakest. There were more of the creatures now.  He felt them too. They were flocking toward that weakness, the place where the cave was deepest and darkest. 

He felt the one who made it past, the snarling creature that was the embodiment of everything the White Oath stood against. 

Time seemed to stand still. There was a moment - it couldn’t have been more than a moment but in the nightmares that followed in the years to come, Redden would relive that one moment over slow, agonizing hours - a moment when he had to choose: to stop the ritual and raise his sword, or to keep casting and die there. 

In that moment, he knew what it meant to be a son of Titan. Whether he truly was one or not didn’t matter anymore. The ritual had to be completed. There was no other way. He shouted the incantation, opening his eyes to watch the creature coming for him, close enough that he recognized Argus, and Redden knew he was going to die. 

But then Cid roared into view, tackling the creature, knocking it directly into the waiting arms of the others who’d been too weak to breach the barrier. The barrier didn’t stop the living, however; Cid went right through it. The beasts closed in around him. 

“No!” Redden screamed, all thoughts of Bram’s spell forgotten. He reached for the raw aether, not the white magic offered by his own reserves, but the primal, destructive possibilities of black magic - fire and ice and lightning - and as his senses searched the aether, he could feel his brother’s aura being pulled deeper and deeper into the cave. 

“No!” he screamed again. He threw himself forward, toward the darkness, but Arthur’s hands grabbed him, pulling him back. He threw his spells ahead of him, watched in horror as they broke against his own barrier like water thrown against a window. The creatures snarling on the other side flinched back from it but were unharmed.

He tried once again to run, readying spells to cast on the other side of the barrier, but more hands held him now. He could still feel Cid’s aura down there.

And then, with crushing finality, he couldn’t. His brother was gone.

Redden howled, throwing every spell he could name - and a few he couldn’t, raw, instinctual - into the dark.

“Get him out of here before he breaks it himself!” someone shouted. 

The hands pulled him back. He struggled against them, screaming all the while.

* * *

_ Melmond Harbor, Present Day _

Thad heard the lapping of water outside, felt the gentle rocking, and woke in a panic thinking he was back on his father’s ship. He realized quickly that he was mistaken. He wasn’t in his father’s hold, but belowdecks on the  _ Sahagin Prince _ . He recalled, but dimly, falling asleep on the deck beside Oscar, remembered the captain waking him long enough to send him to his little hammock. He could hear other of the crew nearby, their sleepy breathing and their snores, Maxell talking in his sleep. It was morning, early, still dark. Thad called up his aether sight to chase the darkness away.

It would be dawn soon. He didn’t know how he knew, but something in the aether told him so. There was still so much about being a black mage that Thad didn’t know. He would have to ask Jack about it when he woke up. Thad looked toward the corner of the ship where Jack’s hammock was, but that corner was dark - no bright spot of aether showed Jack sleeping there. Jack always did get up early.

Thad focused on his aether sight, made the transition from seeing the aether to reading it so that he could track the mage down, but where he should have seen the remains of Jack’s blue aura, there was nothing. The mage had not slept there. 

Perhaps he had gone to the hold? Jack often went there to be alone. Thad got up, quickly and quietly, reading the aether all the while. Biggs was up already, in the galley making breakfast, and the captain had come this way, but Jack hadn’t even been belowdecks.

_ Did he leave me here? _ Thad wondered, offended. It was bad enough that Kane was always calling him a kid, saying he was too little for anything exciting, but Jack had never behaved that way. With some embarrassment, Thad wondered if was it because he’d been crying last night. Perhaps the mage now thought him too little after all?

He was grumbling when he reached the deck and found all traces of Jack’s aura had faded into the aether. Thad hadn’t really believed it until then.  _ He didn’t even wake me up to say goodbye!  _ Thad thought. He stomped toward the gangplank. 

“Where you off to, Shipman?” someone called. Thad looked toward the voice and saw Gabbiani standing in the open doorway to the captain’s cabin, smoking a pipe. The smoke wasn’t visible in the weak dawn light but the glow was, as was the way the heat of the little bowl affected the aether, making it shimmer and swirl in a way that was almost smoke-like. 

“Back to the manor,” Thad said. “Orin will be waiting for me.”

The captain shook his head. “He’ll wait a bit longer, I’m sure. Come in and talk.”

“What for?” Thad asked. “Am I in trouble?”

“You got a reason to be in trouble?” Gabbiani said, chuckling.

Thad couldn’t think of one, but he still looked toward the dock.  _ I could run for it, _ he thought. But why? The crew weren’t his enemy. And it wasn’t as if the friends he’d be running toward treated him any better than a helpless toddler. He turned and walked toward the cabin. The captain held the door for him, then followed him in. 

He motioned Thad toward a chair at the table near the big window then took the larger chair across from him, straightening a huge stack of papers and moving it to the side. At his elbow, he had a tray that held a teapot and a wide-bottomed crystal decanter. He poured two cups of tea, splashing them both with the decanter’s contents and offering one to Thad. Thad’s splash of that other ingredient was considerably less generous than the captain’s had been, but still it pleased him. He could count on the pirates not to treat him differently just because he was small. The captain sat back in his chair, sipping his own tea and regarding Thad critically. “Jack told me what Bayard said. He seemed worried about you.”

Thad grimaced, and not just because he’d tasted the “tea”. “So worried that he left without me?” 

Gabbiani nodded. “I told him to.” 

Thad took another sip, trying to hold his anger. It was easier to be angry at Jack than to think about Bayard’s words. The second sip tasted worse.

“I never knew Josiah,” the captain said. “Heard of him. Word of luck like his gets around. Did you ever hear the tale of how he bluffed his way past a blockade of raiders with only a single-”

“A single ship,” Thad finished with him. He nodded.

Gabbiani chuckled, motioning with his hands as if he could just picture that ship on the horizon. “Came out under a flag of truce. One cutter against twelve man-o-war. Had the whole lot of them convinced he had twenty ships waiting ‘round the far side of that island.”

Thad nodded again. He knew the story well. He’d heard it, as it were, from the source.

“Every pirate alive wishes he’d been part of that crew,” Gabbiani said, raising his teacup in a little toast before downing it in one gulp against all tea-drinking etiquette.  

Thad raised his own cup and had a big drink. The liquid was disturbingly lukewarm, though it seemed warmer going down. He shuddered.

Gabbiani said, “You’ll stay for breakfast.”

Thad shook his head.

“Weren’t a request,” Gabbiani said. “This town’s cursed, Shipman. There’s things that happen when it’s dark. You’ll stay here til sunup and at least an hour more. I want you to see where you’re going.” 

“I know the way!” Thad protested. “It’s not that far!”

“You’ll take Gus and Maxell along.”

“I’m not a baby!” Thad snapped. He stood and headed for the door.

The captain spoke quickly. “Right, and you’re not a big, strapping lad yet either. I’m just looking out for you, is all. I owe you that!” 

Thad stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He turned back. “Owe me? Why?”

The captain poured himself more tea, poured rather more whiskey on top of that, and stirred it with a stubby finger. “I didn’t know your grandad, Shipman, but I did know your dad.”

There it was again, that fear he’d felt on waking. Strange, Thad thought, that he still felt it so strongly, as though the years and distance between him and his father amounted to nothing.

“Scared of him?” the captain said, watching him. “Lots of folks were scared of Red Charlie. Even other pirates. I wouldn’t have wanted to make an enemy of him.”

“I don’t want to hear.”

“I knew how he treated you.”

Thad shook his head, trying not to cry. “Stop.”

“We all knew, Shipman. It wasn’t a secret. Anyone in Safe Port could have stood up to him for it. But we didn’t. When word spread that Josiah Shipman out of Pravoka had given Chuck the beating we should have done, taken you away…” He downed his tea and refilled his cup with straight whiskey. “We didn’t protect you back then, little Shipman; let me make it up to you now.”

Thad nodded. He didn’t say anything; he would have cried if he’d opened his mouth.  _ I could leave anyway, _ he thought.  _ The manor’s a straight shot through the business district… _ But he didn’t. He told himself he chose to stay. Not because he was a child who needed protecting, not because he was afraid. It was his own choice. His feet carried him belowdecks, down to the dark and creaking hold, and he clung to his aether sight and told himself he wasn’t afraid. He was a Warrior of Light! 

He sat alone in the dark and focused with every ounce of his being on not crying. He wouldn’t cry. Children cried, and he wasn’t a child. He would show them. He would show all of them.

* * *

The aether rang, a sound like a child whistling shrilly in the corner. Jack woke with a moan, unable to focus well enough to block it out. He squinted against the dim sunlight that streamed through the open window. He tried to roll over, but that put pressure on his bladder. He needed to pee, but didn’t want to get up. Instead, he covered his eyes with one arm, which was better but not as comfortable as he would have liked.

He’d just tuned out the aether noise when a lilting voice said, “Rough night?”

_ Lena. _ Lena was in his room.  _ Wait… _ He tried to sit up, but his head pounded riotously. He clutched at it, moaning again as he fell back against the pillow. He thought he might faint, or vomit. His mouth tasted like wadded cotton. He very much needed to pee. 

Lena tsked. “You know, there are a number of religions that advise against strong drink for this very reason.”

Jack whimpered. “And I’ll join one, my lady. Provided I survive this.” 

Without getting up, he turned his head, looking toward the sound of her voice, and there she was: not just in his room, but sitting on his bed, perched in the corner against the wall, with her knees pulled up. She was wrapped in the sheet, and what she might be wearing under that sheet was a question that Jack both desperately needed answered and also needed not to think about if he wanted to leave any room in his mind for other important questions. “What are you doing here?” That was one of them.

“You’re in the wrong room,” she said, quite without any emotion at all.

_ Oh gods! _ he thought. He looked down at himself, checking that he was dressed, worried how much of his scars she might have seen. He was fully covered, clear down to his boots, except that his scarf was gone. 

He couldn’t remember how he’d come there. He tried to think back on it, tried to piece the events of last night together. He remembered the wine, and most of the walk back to the manor - or, he thought he did - and then someone had brought him upstairs, and Lena had been there…

He had a vague, dream-like memory of holding her close and whispering his true feelings to her…

_ Oh, gods…  _

“D-did I s-say anything… overly forward?” 

“I’m not sure,” Lena said in that flat, emotionless voice again. “You only spoke Leifenish the whole time.”

_ Thank the gods, _ he thought.  _ Thank you, thank you, thank you. _

“What does  _ ‘dagona’ _ mean anyway?”

_ “Chusgino,” _ he hissed.

“No, I know that word,” she said chidingly. “Lord Redden told you not to use that word. But you called me  _ ‘dagona’ _ . I thought it was only a name from an old story, but I’m guessing it means something?”

_ Dearest.  _ He moaned again.

The aether whistling commenced, louder than before. Jack sat up, and the room swirled. He lurched toward the door through heroic effort and fumbled with the lock, noticing then that the stuffed fingers of his left glove had gone crooked in the night. He crammed the hand into his opposite armpit, but then he couldn’t manage the latch one-handed. Trying to hold his arm so that Lena wouldn’t see, he turned to the other door, the one to the next room,  _ his _ room, thanking the gods when it wasn’t locked as well and opened on the first try. “I have to go,” he said, stepping through it.  _ That’s it, _ he thought.  _ That’s all I have in me.  _

But then Lena said, “Please do. I need to get dressed,” and the question of the sheet rose in his mind again. He forced the thought away, forced himself to close the door, summoning up one last heroic effort to keep from turning back.

* * *

Redden watched the first drops of rain hit the office window, the speckles they left in the dirt of the training yard outside, then turned back to the men at the table, an emergency meeting of Melmond’s Lords’ Council. “We’ve set the cathedral guardhouse to search the area, but there’s plenty of lower town to cover,” he said, fighting off the urge to yawn as he gave his report. He had not yet had a chance to sleep, though it was already dawn. “If you were to tell the townspeople there’s a rogue mage loose in the city, send criers to circulate a description-”

“Out of the question!” Lord Talbot snapped. “Why, we’d have a mob! Every man who vaguely fit that description would be beaten to death in the streets!”

Redden sighed, too tired to deal with this stupidity.

“Yes, but surely there wouldn’t be that many casualties, considering Redden’s just explained that the description includes a badly broken nose,” said Lord Ipsen, rolling his eyes. When Redden had been young and impulsive, he hadn’t liked the stern, no-nonsense master treasurer, but now he found the old man’s cynicism rather refreshing. “Besides, there’s no need to mention that this dangerous criminal we’re hunting is a mage!”

“There’s no need to mention him at all,” said Pollendina. “You say he Teleported out? Teleport is an aether intensive spell. The state he was in, injured? It was likely a last ditch effort. He can’t have gone far. Surely, the guards will find him.”

“And what would you know about spells?” Lord Hornwood asked under his breath, but not so quietly that he wouldn’t be heard.

The secretary cut him a glare that said if he knew any spells, he would have used them by now. “They’re mentioned extensively in these things called books, Reginald. Maybe you’ve heard of them?”

“Enough, gentlemen!” Arthur hissed, putting just enough emphasis on the second word to show he meant it sarcastically. “And sit down, Redden! Stop sulking in the corner.”

Redden stepped from the window. His first impulse was to go to the bench by the door where he and his brother had sat through so many meetings like this in the past, but he remembered, before he’d taken a second step, the empty seat at the table. Lord Quincey was not in town, preoccupied with affairs in the Reach where the summer planting had to be organized around the spread of the Rot. 

None of the Lords’ Council seemed to care when Redden sat among them. They continued to argue among themselves, and Redden found himself tuning them out as he had often done when he was younger, sitting in on Westen’s meetings for form’s sake but unable to contribute to them. He tried to focus, belatedly remembering he had opted to stand because he’d feared he would nod off if he sat. The padded leather chair suddenly seemed as warm and inviting a place as his bed in the guest quarters. 

Some time later, Arthur stood. “Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all. If you would excuse me, Lord Pollendina and I have paperwork to see to.” 

Redden shook his head rapidly to combat the drowsiness. He stood and followed the still-bickering lords out the door, trying vainly to recall what their decision had been regarding the search for the mage. He stopped when Arthur called out, “Redden.” For a moment, when he turned back, the man who stood at the table appeared to Redden’s eyes as the boy he’d known years ago, that earnest and open face, but when he spoke, Arthur’s voice still had that sharpness brought on by years of disappointment. “Get some sleep. We can’t have a son of Titan walking around looking half dead. It’s bad for morale.”

Pollendina smirked, an expression that said he believed in the prophecy as much as Arthur did, as much as Redden did - that is to say, not at all.

Redden nodded, too tired to let the words get to him.

In the hall, Lord Talbot was waiting for him. “Ah, Lord Carmine, I wonder if I might have a word?”

“Can it wait?” Redden said. 

“I’m not sure it should. Only it’s rather a delicate matter… It’s, well, it’s somewhat scandalous. It’s your son, you see.”

_ My son… _ Redden nodded. He was on firmer ground now; many a conversation with his dear friend Cascius had begun like this. “What’s he done this time?”

“Publicly cavorting with servants! Really, Redden! It’s quite indecent!”

Redden’s mind worked furiously, trying to keep up.  _ Cavorting? Kane would never… Oh, wait… _ “Are you, perchance, talking about… Jack and Lena? You know she’s his betrothed, right?”

“Yes, well… However that may be, my contacts in the city say they were seen together yesterday at a certain whorehouse. A  _ whorehouse, _ Redden! No matter how you may feel about your position here, the Carmines are one of the high families! This behavior is unacceptable! When a son of nobility - even a bastard son! - acts with such disregard to common decency-”

Redden sighed, holding up a hand to indicate that he needed a moment. Jack at a whorehouse? Jack and Lena?  _ Jack?  _ The thought didn’t seem to fit in his head no matter how he turned it. He took a deep breath. “Start at the beginning, please.”

He had a good mad going by the time he found Jack. The boy was in the front hallway, talking to Gilbert, the manservant. “It’s yellow. About this big,” Jack said, holding his hands out. “I know it isn’t much, but it has sentimental value. If you could please keep an eye out for it?” He wore a green scarf that must have been new - Redden had never seen it on him before - but his shirt clearly wasn’t, as the wrinkles on his back showed he had slept in it. Redden waited at the foot of the stairs. 

Gilbert nodded, glancing toward Redden, and when Jack turned to see what he was looking at, the manservant made good his escape. Redden waited until Gilbert was well on his way before he grabbed Jack by the back of his rumpled shirt and shoved him toward the parlor, slamming the door behind them so hard that it bounced open again. Redden didn’t bother to shut it properly; he was already too busy yelling by then.

He started with, “A whorehouse?”

Jack blushed so fiercely the tips of his ears looked like they were on fire. “W-wait!” he stuttered. “It-it wasn’t-”

“It wasn’t a whorehouse?”

“N-no! I mean, well, it was! But we didn’t- We weren’t-” He took a shuddering breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered, “Ramuh, strike me down.”

“Forget Ramuh, young man. If the next words out of your mouth aren’t the beginnings of an explanation, I will strike you down myself.”

“We weren’t there for… that,” Jack said, his voice low and strained with humiliation. “Orin found someone with the night plague there. He took Lena to see her. I only went to keep her safe.”

Redden didn’t respond, only glared. It was a trick that worked well with Kane when Redden knew he was guilty of something. It seemed to work just as well against Jack. The mage squirmed under that gaze, and finally broke.

“Oh, gods! You don’t believe me! Ask Orin! He’ll tell you!”

Redden saw everything he needed to see in the boy’s nervousness. “I believe you,” he said.

Jack, visibly relieved, flopped onto one of the parlor’s couches. “I swear to you, Redden! Nothing happened!”

Redden sighed and sat in the couch across from him. “But you can’t tell me you weren’t thinking about it.” The boy said nothing, which in itself said much. “Look, you’re only setting yourself up to be hurt here. I know we talked about this and we agreed to disagree, but she’s still a soul reader…”

“I’ve told you, she feels,” Jack began.

“That’s irrelevant,” Redden said. “Say she does have feelings of her own, what then? She still feels yours too. Don’t you see, Jack? If she returns your advances, you can never be sure how much of it truly came from  _ her. _ ”

Jack stared at the floor, though his hand drifted up to his face, fiddling with the edge of his scarf below his cheekbone. “There won’t be any advances,” he said, sounding sad now. “I can’t. You’re right, Redden. I did think about it, but I can’t.” He sat forward on the couch, letting his head hang low. “It’s not her feelings you have to worry about. It’s mine. My problem with the aether... It’s not random. The aether responds to my emotions. You saw it once in Elfheim… I was angry…”

Redden remembered it, a sudden cold that had filled the room, but that had been mild. “I seem to recall you easily regained control then.”

Jack shrugged. “That was more than a month ago. A month before that, it wouldn’t have happened. It’s been getting worse, moreso around Lena. Whatever I might be feeling for her, I can’t let myself feel it. I  _ want _ to, I even thought I might try, but… I… I kissed her yesterday, and it… Let’s just say that for the sake of that brothel it’s lucky my powers manifest as ice rather than fire.” 

His other hand fidgeted with the hilt of the sword he wore, the focus object Redden had lent him. Redden wondered if Jack was struggling with the aether even now. “And when you’re not with her, how’s your control? We can’t risk these people knowing what you are.”

“I manage. There’s a trick I learned from a battle mage to suppress my emotions…”

“I know of it,” Redden said. He heard footsteps in the hall and only then remembered the door wasn’t closed all the way. The conversation had long since drifted into territory they didn’t want anyone eavesdropping on. He stood, crossing the room, and had just glimpsed Lena through the crack in the door, her hand outstretched to push it open.

Behind him, Jack sighed. “But even that doesn’t work when Lena’s around. Truthfully, I can scarcely tolerate her company for more than an hour.”

Redden saw Lena’s eyes widen. He glanced back, but Jack hadn’t noticed her, wallowing in self-pity as he was. By the time Redden faced the door again, she was gone.  _ It’s for the best, _ he thought.  _ A soul reader is hardly a suitable companion for him. For anyone. It’s better this way. _ Still, Redden almost felt bad for him; Jack sounded so miserable. And the boy’s lack of control was worrying. Well, there was one exercise he knew that could help with that at least. He shut the parlor door and locked it. “This battle mage… Did he happen to teach you the spellblade technique?”

Jack shook his head. “I was too young when he left.”

Redden nodded. “No time like the present.”

* * *

After Thad helped Biggs prepare breakfast, he sat on the deck with Oscar. Worryingly, the ochu seemed slower than usual, eating only a few bites of the bacon Thad offered him before seeming to lose interest. “Come on, boy. You’ve got to eat,” Thad said.

The cantankerous plant growled, pinching its toothy mouth shut and pulling as far from the bacon as its pot would allow. It gave the distinct impression of turning its nose up at the offered morsel, despite the fact that it had no nose. 

“What’s with you lately?” Thad asked, worried. It seemed unlike the ochu to be ambivalent about food. Thad wondered if it was because of the weather. The day was overcast, the sun completely obscured by clouds. Plants needed lots of sunlight, didn’t they? Thad looked up at the sky. Well, there was no help for it today. He sighed, loosening the ties at the front of his shirt. 

The air was actually cooler than it had been in the past few days, though still quite warm, far from pleasant with no hint of a breeze. The rain had started and stopped several times already, a weak drizzle contributing to a relentless mugginess that seemed almost palpable. Thad sat back, nibbling on the bacon strip and watching the seagulls flock around the fishing boats farther down the pier.

A noise on the dock caught his attention, a name: Bayard. Thad stood in a crouch just high enough to peek over the ship’s railing and saw the suspicious captain speaking with some of his men. He seemed to be on his way back to the  _ Strahl _ from somewhere. Thad watched the man board the ornate vessel and disappear into the cabin. Oscar snuffled at him, one thorny tentacle going for his pockets until Thad passed over the last of his bacon. The ochu munched it happily, but Thad kept his eyes on the other ship, waiting to see if Bayard would emerge again, wondering what the man was doing. 

_ He was coming out of that building when Jack and I found him, _ Thad remembered, a building the navy captain had locked behind him. The building wasn’t far from here. 

Thad looked around. Gabbiani was still in the captain’s cabin. Maxell and Hawthorn were on the quarterdeck, playing cards. Maxell was supposed to be watching him, Thad knew, but the big sailor wasn’t watching him very carefully, in the way that all adults with no children of their own assume that any child old enough to walk and talk is capable of watching themselves. He was right, more or less: Thad watched himself all the way down the gangplank and up the dock.

He stopped at the registrar’s table, showing the man there the identification paper he’d started keeping in his pocket after the third time someone had asked him about it and he hadn’t had it on him. The paper was wrinkled and creased, but the man at the table - not the same man who’d been working the day they arrived, but one equally old - read it quickly and waved Thad through.

He walked briskly through the harbor crowds. No one glanced his way; it had always amazed Thad how little notice people took of him when he walked casually and confidently as if he had places to be. He did have places to be, but now that he thought about it, he wasn’t entirely sure where those places were. He and Jack had been going the other direction when they ran into Bayard the day before. 

Once more, he brought up his aether sight, pleased at how quickly it came to him - he was getting better at it all the time - then concentrated on reading it. The criss-crossing aether trails were beautifully distracting, the sensation he got from them, of not quite seeing, not quite touching, still so new and unusual that his mind couldn’t take it all in. He focused on one of the trails, a soft burgundy color. He knew, though again he didn’t know how he knew, that it belonged to Patch Bayard. 

He followed the aura trail, found that it did indeed lead right to the place he remembered, a shipping office. The burgundy aura was all over the door, showing that the captain had been here recently and often. Thad tried the door and found it locked. It was a simple lock, but the street wasn’t empty, too many potential witnesses. Casually, as though the door didn’t interest him at all, he wandered past it, around the edge of the building, behind it, looking in windows as he went, but inside there were only offices. It was always offices...

There was someone in there. He felt it before he saw it, the aura in a room at the back. The windows on this side of the building were high and tiny to provide the illusion of privacy in the middle of the busy harbor district, but there was a crate nearby Thad was able to stand on, and the rough wooden wall had plenty of handholds.

When he’d hoisted himself up, he saw that the room with the person in it was not an office at all but a bedroom. These sort of office buildings often had small rooms at the back that could be used as living quarters by businessmen who didn’t have families and liked keeping their overhead expenses low. The old man in the bed didn’t look like a businessman. He was bald, thin, pale as death, and his aura gave off a sickly glow. He was sleeping, but Thad could tell even from the window that he struggled with each breath. 

As he watched, the door to the room opened as someone else arrived. Thad ducked lower to avoid being seen, but the other person was focused on the old man. Thad realized the newcomer was none other than Lord Pollendina, the thin, dark-haired secretary. Pollendina laid a gentle hand on the old man’s forehead, checking for fever, then settled into a thickly cushioned chair beside the bed and stretched his long legs out in front of him. He picked up a book from the bedside table and began reading aloud as if the old man could hear him, reminding Thad of the way he himself had read to Prince Aryon back in Elfheim. The secretary blinked a few times and rubbed his puffy, red eyes, then took a drink from a water glass on the night table and went on reading. 

The tenderness of it embarrassed Thad. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. Perhaps he had hoped to discover something incriminating, some evidence that Bayard was involved in nefarious deeds, but Thad couldn’t think of anything criminal about caring for a sick old man. From the looks of things, he was very well cared for. It was clear the secretary had been there often: it was a thick book, and he’d worked through most of it.

Thad dropped to the crate and jumped back down to the ground. Oh, well. He’d satisfied his own curiosity if nothing else. He was debating whether he would go back to the ship or straight to the manor when he noticed the figure in the alley with him, blocking his exit, a dirty man in a black robe.

“It’s you…” the man said, smiling crookedly under a bruised and crooked nose. He reached up to brush his greasy hair out of his eyes; his hand and his face were covered in blood. “The boy from before, the little black mage…”  

Thad backed away, but the man stepped forward.

The man chuckled. “Did you know that’s what you are? Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

Thad’s shoulders hit the wall behind him. He felt his hands shaking and tried to steady himself. He had to run. He had to be ready to run.

The man kept moving unsteadily forward. He was filthy, covered in some slimy gunk that stank worse than shit. Thad gagged as the man drew closer. “Don’t be afraid,” the man said again. “There’s someone you need to meet.” The man reached for him.

Thad bolted sideways, slamming into him, trying to create an opening for himself in the narrow alley, but to no avail. The man grabbed Thad roughly by the back of his shirt. “That’s no way to behave,” he said right into Thad’s ear. 

Thad tried to protest, but he felt his collar choking him. Then his feet left the ground, a sensation of falling, of flying, of being thrown. He’d felt this before.  _ Teleport! _ he realized. The man had Teleported him.

The aether whirled around him, stilled again. He felt his ears pop, his stomach drop. He gagged, both from the sensation and from the smell of the man, so close, but he didn’t throw up as he had that time with Jack. He couldn’t throw up. He had to run.

He looked around. Buildings. Another alley. They were still in the city. He could hear more people ahead of him, a street there. He struggled, but the man held his shirt. “Steady now,” the greasy man said. “We’re not done yet.”

“Yes, we are!” Thad cried. The man held his shirt, but his hands were free. He could feel the aether moving as he reached for his sword, could feel the next Teleport starting as he drew it. The world dropped out from under him again, flying, falling. He held his sword, struggled to swing it when it felt like forces beyond his control would rip it from his hands. He stabbed wildly at the figure behind him.

The greasy man cried out, and the whirling aether slammed to a halt. Thad fell hard. People gasped. He still gripped his sword, and when he pulled it free it shone wet and red. The man cried out again.

They were on a busy street. Thad recognized it. He was near the west gate. People were screaming, running away. “Help me!” he cried, but no one stopped. He skittered to his feet. The greasy man reached for him again, and Thad felt the aether move, but he kicked the man in the face, right in his injured nose, and kept running. “Someone help me!” he called, running as fast as he had ever run, making straight for the west gate guardhouse. When he burst through the door, screaming, sword in hand, the guards there leaped up, drawing their own weapons. “Help me!” he cried again. “Please, someone help me!”

“Stand down!” a man barked. “It’s Lord Orin’s boy!”

“Is that blood?” another said.

“What’s happened?”

“Black mage!” Thad cried. “There’s a black mage!”

He was shoved aside as guards poured out the door. Only one remained behind, pressing him gently into a chair, pulling at his bloody sword. “You’re alright, lad. We’ve got you. You’re alright. You can let go.”

He nodded, but he couldn’t make his hand work. The guard had to pry his fingers loose. He blacked out the second the hilt left his hand.  

* * *

It was nearly midday by the time Kane and the others walked through the lower town toward the guardhouse where Gabriel’s investigation team was stationed. Gabriel had wanted to go at dawn, first thing, before a fresh batch of guards showed up to keep an eye on them, but Harvey had been slow to rouse and slower still getting ready. 

“Gods above and below!” Gabriel snarled, almost fidgeting with the apparent effort of slowing his steps as they passed through a sparsely crowded market. “Must you walk slowly as well? At this rate, the commander will be out for lunch by the time we arrive!”

Harvey, who had been swift enough at sneaking out of the Quincey townhouse without alerting their guards, as quick as the Quincey brothers themselves, pretended to pout. “But Gabriel, it would be a crime to hurry on a day like this!”

Logan nodded. “This weather is perfect. It’s more like spring than summer.” 

Kane frowned. Though the day was the coolest he had experienced during his stay in Melmond so far, he wouldn’t go so far as to say it was perfect. Stifling, perhaps. Humid. Oppressive. Gray and wet with clouds obscuring the sun. It wasn’t raining at the moment, but Kane was soaked anyway; sweat clung to his skin without going anywhere, leaving him sticky and irritable. 

Gabriel’s irritability matched his own, though for other reasons. “I thought you had to get to work?” the sergeant said to Logan.

“And I will,” the older Quincey replied evenly. “I just wanted to see this through first.” As they left the market behind, the thin crowd, surprisingly, grew no thinner. Even when they came to a residential area, they still had to weave around children playing in the streets, old men gossiping on their porches, and a number of Melmond guards walking the streets in pairs and looking suspiciously at every person they passed. Logan scowled up at the rundown wood and plaster buildings. “How much farther is this place?”

“Not far,” Gabriel said, unhelpfully.

“You’ve never been to the cathedral guardhouse before?” Kane asked.

“No,” Logan scoffed. “Why would I have? I almost never come to town in the first place. It would hardly be fitting my station to spend my time in the lower town when I do.” 

“Just what are you trying to say?” Gabriel growled. A guard glanced their way at the sound of his raised voice but seemed to dismiss them when he saw Gabriel’s uniform.

“Don’t start that again,” Harvey said, pushing Gabriel ahead of him so that he was between the brothers. “Worse than children, you two. It’s up one more street and left at the corner, Logan, where that red-tiled roof is.”

“How could you possibly know that?” said Gabriel. “When have you ever been here?”

“You mean he didn’t come here with you?” said his brother.

“Of course not! What kind of idiot drags the future Lord of Melmond along to the lower town, Logan?” 

“Gentlemen!” Harvey said, sighing overdramatically. “I do have other idiot friends capable of dragging me into disreputable places besides the two of you! It just so happens one of them used to live around here. You remember Moore, don’t you? The gardener? I visited his flat a few times.”

Logan muttered, “Gods, he really is friends with everyone,” but Gabriel grew quiet. 

The quiet made it easier to hear the noises ahead. They turned the corner and there was the guardhouse ahead of them, surrounded by a great crowd. Common folk clustered here and there around the building, some angry and yelling, a few seeming only curious, and most of the rest looking frightened. Guards came and went through the heavy wooden doors, some in uniforms like Gabriel’s and others in the gray-trimmed affairs that the Avenue Inspectors wore. “What are they doing here?” Gabriel grumbled.

“Maybe Malcolm called them in as reinforcements?” Harvey said, for the guards were clearly outnumbered. 

“Kill him!” someone shouted, and another, “Let’s see him dead!”

“How can anyone know they’re safe with them mages mucking about?” said another voice.

“For the last time,” an Avenue Inspector shouted above the din, addressing the restless throng. “The mage has been captured! You’re in  _ no _ danger! Return to your homes, before the rain comes pissing on us!” As if on cue, a few scant raindrops flecked the ground as the drizzle started up again. 

“A mage?” Kane said, immediately worried for Jack. 

Gabriel grabbed a Melmond guard passing by at that moment. “Geoffrey! What in Titan’s name is going on?”

The guard seemed startled but recovered quickly. The silver insignia pin on his collar indicated he was also a sergeant, and he addressed Gabriel with the familiarity as befitted someone of equal rank. “Gabriel? What are you doing here? I thought Leiden had pulled you for duty at the house?”

“He did. I just came to see the commander about something. But what’s going on?”

“You haven’t heard yet?” the other sergeant said. “Word is, the Brotherhood tried another one of their murders last night, but the son of Titan was there and stopped the ritual!”

Kane gasped, worried anew.  _ Father? _

Gabriel looked at him, shaking his head for quiet, then looked back at Geoffrey. “Was Lord Carmine alright?”

“Sure,” the other guard went on, “but there were five men dead at the end of it, only one of them ours. One of the dark mages escaped and we’ve been looking for him all morning, but a runner from the west gate says they’ve caught him.”

“Thanks, Geoffrey.” Gabriel turned to the others. “Come on.”

“You’ll never get to him!” Geoffrey called. “Commander’s swamped with this mess. Half the Lords’ Council’s been through here already. You’d be better off waiting for another time.” He gave a casual salute, then turned and slipped into the crowd, off on whatever errand he’d started on. Some of the mob had already peeled off and wandered away, but most were still milling around.

Gabriel watched the other sergeant go then looked at the busy guardhouse door. “Alright,” he said to three of them. “You lot wait out here.”

“In the rain?” Kane said, grimacing.

“Yes,” said Gabriel, though he shrugged apologetically. “I’ll move faster on my own, and if I can’t get to the commander, I might at least be able to snag the unsolved case files from the outer farms. That will give us a place to start.”

Logan nodded. “Go.”

Gabriel pushed through the crowd and went inside.

A fat raindrop hit Kane’s face, the first and only indication he had that the sky was about to open up and pour on them.

“Gods damn it,” Logan muttered. 

“Over here,” Harvey said, pulling them into the doorway of the nearest house as the rain picked up speed. “It won’t last long! These summer rains never do.”

A quarter hour passed. That same inspector came out to yell at the people again, and more seemed to take him seriously the second time, perhaps because of the weather. They wandered off in twos and threes, the curious and the frightened first. The angry ones waited stubbornly, becoming more bedraggled with every moment of the pouring rain.

Neither Kane nor his two companions said anything as they waited. Even in the shelter of the doorway, Kane was drenched. The drops seemed to come from everywhere, more like a wet fog than rain. The sky was one solid sheet of cloud from horizon to horizon, a white, sunless wall more depressing than darkness with its twinkling stars could ever have been. 

Kane wondered at the last of the protesters, who remained in the middle of the street under no cover at all. Even the guards remained inside now, no longer moving in and out of the guardhouse doors on their various errands. Kane watched as one of the Avenue Inspectors stuck his head out the door and barked an order to one of the two guards posted outside. The door guard nodded and ran up the street, passing a drunk in a wine-stained shirt. The drunk reached out to him and stumbled, but the guard ran on without noticing. 

“What’s taking so long?” Logan asked. “I haven’t got all day!”

“You could always go on to work,” Harvey said. “Save the serious talk for another occasion?”

“Not a chance,” Logan grumbled. 

Kane only half listened. He was watching the drunkard stumble up the street, wondering if he should go and help the man along, when he saw the woman in the red dress. It was as if the rain had poured her into being. He would swear she hadn’t been there a moment ago - he was sure he would have noticed her. Though she was clearly not a young woman, she was beautiful, tall and stately, with long, dark hair hanging damply past her waist. She walked gracefully past the drunk, whose wide eyes turned adoringly to follow her. Her red dress, though shabby and torn in places, clung wetly to every curve of her body.

There was a commotion from the crowd as some kind of fight broke out. Kane looked that way just as the last guard posted on the guardhouse door rushed in to intervene.

“Did you see that?” Logan asked. “Was he drunk?”

“Bit early in the day for drink, isn’t it?” said Harvey.

Logan shrugged. “That’s never stopped Victor before.”

“What happened?” Kane asked.

“Oh, that man came in from over there and attacked that other fellow,” Harvey said, pointing. 

“Completely unprovoked, I think,” said Logan. “He must have been drinking. He was unsteady on his feet.”

“Huh, that’s odd,” said Kane, pointing the other way. “There was another drunkard over…” He trailed off. There was no one up the street. Both the other drunk and the woman in the red dress were gone.

The commotion in the crowd rose. Kane turned back, but he couldn’t see anything through the mass of people. A man began to scream, “Get him off! Get him off!” Other people cried out in fear. The guard who had run into the fight drew his sword, but even before he raised it up, a spray of red cut through the rain. The man stopped screaming, but other people screamed in his stead. Some ran.

“Bloody hell!” Logan whispered. 

“What was that?” Harvey asked. “Did he… Did he just kill-”

A moan sounded from up the street. Kane turned and saw the first drunk again, closer. Where had he come from? Something wasn’t right. What Kane had taken for wine stains from a distance looked suspiciously like blood stains up close. The man’s wide, unseeing eyes, were white and cloudy. Dead eyes.

_ It can’t be, _ Kane thought. His father had told him about the south cape, about how the dead there didn’t stay dead, but in retelling the events of his youth, Lord Redden had emphasized one point over all: the seals kept the roving dead imprisoned within the cave. Kane clung to that point now.  _ They can’t be here,  _ he told himself.  _ It’s not possible. _

But then those dead eyes turned to look at him and the creature - a young man once - opened its mouth and snarled like a rabid dog. 

“Watch out!” Kane said, drawing his sword, shoving Harvey behind him just as the creature charged. It reached for his throat, heedless of his weapon and clumsy in its single-minded attack. Kane cut it down easily, his blade tearing diagonally through the thing’s midsection as easily as carving a roast.

Harvey yelped in surprise. “Ye gods! You’ve killed him!”

“He was already dead!” Kane said. The thing at his feet, which definitely should have been dead now considering Kane had almost cut it completely in half, snarled at Harvey, pulling itself forward with its arms but leaving its lower body behind. Harvey yelped once more as Kane sliced downward, severing its neck. His blade came out clean. There was no blood at all, despite the severity of the wounds. “See?”

“H-how?” Harvey sputtered.

Another scream. Kane looked toward where the crowd had been. Only the lone guard remained now, facing off against the other creature while its first victim lay unmoving in the street. Kane watched as the unfortunate guard stuck his sword clear through his unnatural opponent and the dead man, unslowed by the blade, kept coming, bearing the screaming guard to the ground.

“No time! Come on!” Kane said as he rushed forward. 

A hand reached for him out of the rain. He just had time to see another pair of milky, dead eyes in a snarling face before Logan’s sword flashed into view, breaking the dead man’s head like an egg. Logan nodded to Kane, and the two of them hurried onward with Harvey close behind. 

Kane reached the creature first, kicking it off of the struggling guardsman. The movement knocked the guard’s sword loose; it squelched into the mud nearby. Logan swung at the creature as it fell, the arc of his sword flinging raindrops, but though his cut laid the thing open from shoulder to hip, it only growled and feebly reached out for him. Logan skipped free of its grasp, shouting as he brought his sword up and down again repeatedly in a panicked frenzy. It took multiple hits before the creature stopped moving.

Harvey knelt on the muddy ground beside the guard. “Are you alright?” he asked. “Let me see.”

The guard held his hand over a wound in his shoulder; blood soaked his uniform around it. “You’re… you’re Lord Leiden!” 

“Yes, hello,” Harvey said casually, as though he were greeting the guardsman at a summer party rather than crouched in the mud during a rainstorm. “Now let’s see that gash.”

The wounded guard nodded and gave in.

The rain eased back down to a trickle. In the comparative quiet, Kane heard screaming from other streets. There was a low sound that might have been thunder, but it made the hair on the back of Kane’s neck stand on end and he knew it was the piteous moaning of more of those creatures. “Something’s coming!” he said.

“Harvey, get inside!” said Logan. 

“This man is hurt!” Harvey said. “He’s lost a lot of blood!”

Logan cursed, stooping to help the injured guardsman to his feet. He and Harvey held him between them. 

There was a shuffling from behind them. A figure stumbled towards them, moaning, arms outstretched. There was blood on its hands. Kane readied his sword, putting himself between the creature and his companions, but then he became aware of more movement off to his left.  _ Surrounded! _ he thought, trying to angle himself so that he could see both creatures at once. 

But the second figure wasn’t one of the creatures. It was the woman in the red dress. “Get away from here!” Kane called. “It isn’t safe!” He turned back toward the snarling creature, dodging its clumsy lunge at him. He punched it, splitting his knuckles open on its bared teeth. It fell backward from the force of that blow. It shrieked in anger, struggling to rise again from the muddy, rain-slick streets. Kane put his sword through one of its murderous eyes.

He turned to catch up with his friends, but they hadn’t moved, not one step from where they’d been before. The woman in the red dress was still there as well, and Harvey and Logan stood staring at her as though transfixed. The guard they held between them was limp and ashen-faced, his head lolling to the side.

“My son,” the woman said.

Kane froze. That voice seemed to enter his head without passing through his ears. It had been a quiet voice, but it hurt as much as a shout to his eardrum. It blocked out all other sound - the diminishing rain, the screaming from the next street over - until there was nothing but that voice.

“Where is my son?” she said, and the voice buzzed against the inside of Kane’s skull.

Her skin was pale, her hair dark. She was unbearably beautiful. She was terrifying. She wasn’t one of the creatures, Kane knew, but something worse. He couldn’t name this cold feeling, this bone-deep instinct that told him here was a predator, but he felt it, and he felt it keenly. He tried to bring his sword around, to slice the woman down, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t so much as blink.

She stepped toward Logan, and the big man stared slack-jawed at her. She ran her hand through his tawny hair, down the side of his broad face, and he stood as unresponsive as though he’d turned to stone. The woman looked at him as though she had trouble seeing him, as though she were nearly blind, but then her eyes narrowed in anger. “You are not my son,” she said. She backhanded him, and he flew sideways as though he were a child’s toy tossed aside rather than a grown man. He hit the ground hard and didn’t rise.

“No!” Harvey called, his concern for his friend overcoming whatever spell the woman had put on him. He reached for Logan, but with his other arm he now held the unconscious guard on his own and it was clearly too much for him. He struggled against the weight, but he wouldn’t drop the man and run. Kane tried to go to him, but he still couldn’t move.

“Son?” she said, and Kane could hear the hope in that word even through the harsh resonance of the woman’s voice. “Are you… my son?”

Harvey shook his head, but weakly, as though he moved with difficulty. Kane could see the moment the woman’s powers took hold and left him unable to move again. His grip on the unconscious soldier slackened; the man slumped to the ground and fell over.

“My son,” the woman said, opening her arms, pulling Harvey into a loving embrace. She opened her mouth impossibly wide, and when she did, Kane saw that her teeth were the fangs of a wild beast, pointed and sharp and nightmarishly long. Harvey was powerless. The woman - the monster! - would tear out his throat while Kane watched. 

_ No! _ he thought.  _ I can’t let this happen! _ He tried to move again, tried to raise his sword. If he could only raise his sword, that would be enough! He focused on that, that one thing, willing his blade to move. The woman lowered her head to Harvey’s neck.  _ No! _ Kane thought defiantly.  _ No! No! No! _ And then that one word broke free, forcing itself between his stiff lips, from a throat that ached, until he growled, “No!” just loud enough that those terrible dark eyes turned to look at him.

The woman regarded him curiously, her head cocked, as though she were trying to recall something, something she had known a long time ago. She let Harvey go, and the blond lordling fell in a heap at her feet. She stepped toward Kane, looking him up and down. He could feel his heart pounding in terror, the urge to fight or to flee surging through him, but he could no more move than he could fly. He focused on his sword; he could feel it in his hand, could feel his grip on the hilt. Had his hand moved, or had he only imagined it?

The woman was closer now. Those eyes, those dark eyes, glowed with aether, but those teeth… Kane couldn’t stop looking at those teeth. They made her lisp just a little as she said, “It’s you… Sssson… of… Titaaannnn…”

The rain stopped. The last drops of it fell from Kane’s hair into his eyelashes and he blinked them away. He could blink. He could blink! He focused on his hand, on his sword, felt his muscles tense and twitch.  _ Move! _ he told himself.  _ Move, damn it! _

“Harvey?” Gabriel’s voice called. “Harvey!” Kane heard the sound of running feet.

The woman’s head whipped around. The moment she broke her gaze, Kane was free. He swung, putting everything he had into the strike, certain that if he missed he would never get another. His sword whiffed through empty air; the woman had turned to smoke. She reappeared instantly, facing Kane, baring those horrible teeth and hissing like a snake, only to disappear again immediately as Gabriel’s sword sliced through the air where she stood. 

The smoke billowed and shifted, reforming several feet away. The woman hissed in anger and defiance. 

“What in hell is that?” Gabriel demanded, as more guardsmen poured from the guardhouse. They gathered beside the sergeant, beside Kane, facing down the snarling woman who no longer appeared beautiful with her too-wide mouth and too-sharp teeth. 

The woman roared, a primal, guttural sound…

And then the clouds parted just enough that the sun shone through. 

The roar became a scream. The woman became smoke again, melting into the shadows of the dilapidated buildings. For a time, Kane thought he could still see her, a darker patch of shadow fleeing from the light, but then she was gone. The shadows were merely shadows, and all that was left of the woman was the echo of her scream. It lasted far longer than it should have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _3/2/18 - The new Dissidia Final Fantasy is great. I think… I don’t know for sure. I’m actually terrible at fighting games. I’ve always been terrible at fighting games, going all the way back to when I was playing them in arcades and there were true financial consequences for failure. I put quarter after quarter into Street Fighter and Mortal Kombat and Tekken; I never improved. And yet… Dissidia! It has “Final Fantasy” in the title! The videos on SE’s YouTube channel looked so pretty! How could I say no?_   
>  _I’m struggling through it, but it’s not exactly a hardship. The various Final Fantasy characters are some of my favorite fictional people. I fell in love with the oldest ones when they were nothing more than pixelated boxes, based on their stories alone. Now, with Dissidia, they look like real people! With voices! They’re. All. So. Pretty._   
>  _Except Kefka. He’s creepy af._


	48. The Wavering Blade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Suggested soundtrack: The Wavering Blade from Final Fantasy IX. Click[here](https://youtu.be/aM0tTX1-65I) to hear it._

An hour later, long after the adrenaline had worn off, leaving him shaky and weak, Kane sat on a bench in the cathedral guardhouse and rested his head against the wall behind him. One of the guards had offered him a cot in the back, a sort of makeshift barracks used by men working double shifts, but Kane had declined. Despite his fatigue, he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, not when he saw those teeth every time he closed his eyes.

There were other takers for the cots, though. Logan, for one, had taken quite a blow from the strange woman. When they’d finally been able to wake him, he’d been so dizzy he was ill. They’d had to carry him inside, as he couldn’t stand on his own. Another cot held the injured guard from the street. Harvey, who’d been completely fine, returned from checking on the two of them and sat on the bench beside Kane.

“Are you sure you don’t need a rest?” Harvey asked. “The cots aren’t bad.”

“I’m fine,” Kane said, hoping his weariness didn’t show. 

He jumped slightly as the door opened, admitting two guards speaking in hushed tones about the bodies outside, those six young men who had managed to attack the White Quarter despite being dead. Five of them had been among the fifteen missing persons Kane and the others had been reading about the night before. The sixth, another teenage boy, had been a carpenter’s apprentice whose master assumed he’d run away home to the countryside eight days ago. Kane didn’t like to think about what this could mean for his friends Cole and Felder. 

Partly to stop himself from worrying about them, partly to stop himself from eavesdropping on the guards, he turned to Harvey and asked, “How are the others?”

“Oh, Logan is alright, provided he doesn’t move his head at all. That guard is worse off. The wound to his shoulder was-” 

He stopped, flinching as, across the guardhouse, the voice of the commander rose again. The man had been yelling at Gabriel for nearly a quarter hour. Commander Malcolm knew of the long friendship between Gabriel and Harvey, but what he knew first and foremost was that Harvey was Lord Leiden’s heir. “-in the White Quarter  _ without _ a guard detail?” Malcolm shouted, loud enough that his words were clear even at this distance and through the closed door. Kane remembered the commander’s daughter in the theater; clearly, she had inherited her ability to project from him.

Harvey shifted uncomfortably as he looked toward the commander’s door. The yelling continued, but the words again became indistinguishable.

“You were saying?” Kane prompted.

“Hmm? Right, yes, the guard. Well, it took time to get the bleeding under control. A long time. He… Nobody likes to admit it, you know, but there’s not much we can do for him at this point. He  _ needs _ white magic. I’ve… I’ve sent for your father.”

Kane groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t think what else to do!” Harvey said. “The guard’s very bad off, Kane. He might not even make it until Lord Redden arrives. They’ve sent for his mother and everything.” He looked at the floor, concern writ plain on his features.

Kane sighed, stifling guilt. Here he was worried about his father yelling at him when that man in the next room might never recover. His thoughts again turned to Cole and Felder, the worry for them more pressing than his worries about his father’s wrath.

They sat silently after that, listening to the commander’s baritone shout as he continued to berate the sergeant. Kane occasionally picked out whole words and phrases, enough to realize it wasn’t just Harvey’s presence in the lower town that had earned Malcolm’s disapproval, but Kane’s presence as well. The heir to the son of Titan was apparently important enough to the people of Melmond that he shouldn’t be exposed to unnecessary risks. 

_ She called me that, _ he thought, remembering again the way the strange woman had frozen him with a look, the terror he’d felt at his inability to move, and the way that harsh voice had reverberated through him as she’d called him a son of Titan.  _ What did she mean? _ he wondered, unsure whether she had meant anything at all. The woman, if such a creature could be called a woman, had seemed confused. But that hadn’t been the only thing she said. “Harvey…?” Kane said tentatively. “That… that woman out there. She said she was looking for her son…”

“She did,” the young Leiden said, nodding. He looked at Kane’s appraising eyes and snorted. “You can’t possibly think I’m it!”

“She seemed to think so,” Kane said with a shrug.

“Yes, I heard,” Harvey said. “But I assure you, she was mistaken! My mother is alive and well, last I checked, and far less interested in my whereabouts than that thing was.”

“Oh? I thought… Forgive me, but when you never spoke of her before, I assumed...”

Harvey barked a laugh. “She lives in the Reach! She and father fight like cats, you see. Arranged marriage, and all that.” The shouting from the other room ceased and the door to the commander’s office opened. Gabriel tramped out, looking sullen. Harvey sprang up. “Gods, Gabriel! I’m so sorry I got you in trouble! Did he sack you? Don’t tell me he sacked you! He can’t sack a son of the high families! Why, I’ll tell him-”

Gabriel spoke quietly, but his words still stopped Harvey mid-rant. “He didn’t sack me.” His downcast eyes had a hunted look to them as if sacking might have been preferable to the dressing down he received. “Though if not for my family name, I believe he would have.”

Harvey put a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and pushed him gently toward the bench. “You should sit down.”

Gabriel nodded. He took Harvey’s seat and let his head hang low. “I was so careless… If I’d insisted on a full guard detail like your father wanted-”  

“Ridiculous!” Harvey said. “This is all my fault! It was my idea to come to the lower town with you. Besides, you can’t have known we’d be attacked by monsters! How often has  _ that _ happened on your way to work?”

Kane laughed bitterly. “The way your commander talked, you’d think it was a common occurrence around these parts.”

Gabriel winced. “Gods, don’t tell me you heard all that.”

“Not all of it,” Kane said, grinning, but then he sighed, unable to maintain a brave face. “Don’t worry. I’ll get mine shortly. You think your commander can yell? Wait until you hear my father.”

And so they waited. They were a silent trio, with Harvey and Gabriel both seeming caught up in their own thoughts. Kane, however, could no longer focus on his own. He rested his head against the wall behind him again, and weariness overcame him like a wave. He’d nearly fallen asleep right there, sitting up, when the guardhouse door banged open and his father strode in followed by a handful of guards. Lord Redden quickly surveyed the room, and when he spied Kane on the bench, he stiffened and frowned.

_ Here it comes, _ Kane thought, standing to meet whatever verbal abuse his father cared to dish out.  

Instead Redden stepped forward and hugged him, tightly and fiercely. “You idiot boy!” Redden growled, pushing Kane away only to shake him hard before embracing him again. “Fool boy! What were you thinking?” He squeezed Kane painfully, and perhaps would not have let him go had not one of the other guards reminded him that his healing spells were needed in the back room. 

_ That can’t be it, _ Kane thought, staring at his father’s back as Redden walked away. 

“I was expecting more,” Gabriel said, exchanging a look with Harvey. 

“So was I,” Kane said, dumbfounded. Surely, after the healing the yelling would start. 

But when Lord Redden emerged again some time later, having done his best to heal both Logan and the ailing guardsman, he scarcely glanced at Kane. He spoke briefly with the commander, then gathered his men and began escorting Kane, Harvey, and Gabriel back to the house. Lord Redden said not a word as they passed out of the lower town, though Kane was ready for it, tense and waiting. Redden remained silent as they crossed the business district and approached the west gate.

When they reached the west gate guardhouse, Redden stayed there, though a few extra guards joined the boys for their long walk to the manor. As they passed through the fields outside of town, crossing the boundary of Leiden’s estates, Kane finally began to relax. He couldn’t believe he’d got off so lightly.

* * *

Leiden had been yelling for nearly an hour. Lena could feel him, his anger, from the other side of the house, though she couldn’t make out his words from where she sat in Orin’s room. 

Leiden’s temper mingled with Orin’s distress. The old monk sat in a chair, staring out the window, as Lena sat on the bed reading aloud from an old, battered copy of  _ The Tales of the Knights of Bahamut _ . She could sense that Orin wasn’t listening to her, but she had to admit she wasn’t paying much attention to the stories herself, her eyes dancing over the page, her mouth forming the words, but her mind taking none of it in. She read anyway. 

Beside her, Thadius was still asleep. Hinton, one of the west gate guards, had brought the boy in, unconscious, earlier that morning. He’d been covered in blood, but none of it was his. Attacked by a black mage, the guard had said. Thad had managed to fight off his assailant and run for help before he’d passed out, seemingly from the shock of his ordeal. “I did the same after my first real fight,” Hinton said. “The adrenaline wears off quick.” Lena had seen right away that it hadn’t been that at all: the boy was empty, his aether reserves entirely depleted. For all that Thad hadn’t learned to cast any spells yet, he had to have managed at least one.

They’d cleaned the boy up, carried him to Orin’s room, and set him in the over-large bed. Lena read to him. Though she could sense the depth of his sleep and knew he couldn’t hear her, she suspected he was soothed by the sound of her voice. At any rate, she wouldn’t leave his side - she wanted to be there for him when he awoke - and the book was as good a way as any to occupy her time. 

She read, “And when he came into the throne room at last, Bahamut spoke to him, saying, ‘Bring me proof of your courage, to receive the honor due a true warrior.’” It was Sir Eden’s tale, one of her favorites, but she hadn’t noticed coming to it. Her throat was growing scratchy, so she paused to take a drink from the waterglass on the nightstand. The room seemed eerily quiet without her voice filling it. She realized that, across the house, Leiden had finally stopped yelling. 

Just then, someone rapped lightly on the door. Gilbert, Leiden’s manservant, stepped in. “Lord Orin?” He waited until the old monk turned to face him, then continued, “Lord Leiden requests your attendance in his office.” Gilbert retreated into the hall. 

Orin said, “Miss Lena, you will stay with him?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding when the word came out in a croak.

After he left, she looked down at the book but she didn’t start reading again. She couldn’t keep her mind on it, busy worrying about Thad, about the presence of black mages in the city, and about one black mage in particular who apparently could scarcely tolerate her company. She sighed, closing the book with a snap and setting it on the nightstand. She went to the window. The rain had moved off completely, making for a bright afternoon. She watched the dragonflies swooping over the patch of lawn Orin’s room overlooked until she felt Kane’s aura approaching, an unapologetic blur of restless energy. She soon heard the sound of his footsteps as well - heavy boots on the hardwood floor - and she turned to the door as he opened it.  

She gasped when she saw the state of him. His clothes were filthy, spattered with mud, and his normally spiky hair was somewhat flattened from the morning’s rain, but those were small details compared to the weariness that she could feel in his spirit. “Kane! What happened to you?” 

His eyes went straight to the sleeping boy in the bed and he frowned deeply. “I was an idiot,” he said.

“Sit down,” she said, steering him toward the bed.

He let her push him, his gaze never breaking from Thad’s face. “Leiden told me what happened to him,” he said. 

“Leiden? So it was you he was yelling at?”

Kane nodded. “Me and Harvey and Gabriel.” 

“What happened?” she asked again.

“We ditched our guards - wanted to go off to the lower town,” he said.

Lena nodded. She’d heard Leiden tell them the lower town was off limits.

“And then… Then we were attacked. There’s something in this city, Lena, something bad. It killed five people today - it nearly killed Harvey! There was nothing I could do about it!”

She knew that small, helpless feeling - she had felt it many times herself in the years since she’d left home - but she never would have expected to feel it from someone as strong and capable as Kane. She sat down beside him. He was slouching so low that when she put a comforting arm around his shoulders, she didn’t even have to reach up despite his superior height.

“I think Cole and Felder are dead,” he said quietly.

She stiffened. “Why… why do you think that?”

“Because they’re missing,” he said. “Do you know about the missing boys in the lower town? The thing that attacked us… It had men with it, dead men. They fought like animals. Logan and I took out four of them, but there were two more on other streets.”

_ Necromancy? _ Lena shuddered.

Kane went on, “The bodies… the guards say they were some of the missing. If that thing is what’s been taking people...” He shook his head. “I don’t think we’ll find them, Lena.”

She wanted to tell him he was wrong, that Cole and Felder could still be out there, that they would find them, but the weight of his despair seemed to have settled right on her throat and she couldn’t get the words out.

Kane looked over at Thad again. “And Shipman… I can’t believe how close we were to losing him. If he hadn’t stabbed that mage… I should have been there. I should have protected him.”

“You can’t protect us all the time, Kane,” Lena said, squeezing his shoulder.

He snorted derisively. “It’s starting to feel like I can’t protect you at all.”

“We don’t think that,” she said quickly. “I don’t think that.” She started to say, “Jack doesn’t think that,” but she stopped. She didn’t know that for sure.  _ Maybe he can scarcely tolerate Kane’s company either. _ Instead she said, “Thadius doesn’t think that. The boy idolizes you!”

“Idolizes? I’ve personally arrested him on three separate occasions!”

That made her laugh. “Well, regardless, you’re his hero.”

He laughed lightly, a pained chuckle, and Lena had never seen his handsome smile look so, so sad. “Oh, Lena, I’m not prepared to be anyone’s hero.”

There was a light knock on the door before Ruby stepped in, immaculate in a sapphire blue dress and  carrying a tray. “Hello? I’ve brought tea!” She looked between Kane and Lena, her eyes confused but her smile unfaltering. 

Lena stood, leaving Kane behind on the bed. “That’s very kind of you, Ruby, but Thad still isn’t awake.”

Ruby bustled to the nightstand, moving the book and the waterglass to the back so she could set the tray down. “Not for him, silly! For you. You’ve been with him all day. You need to take care of yourself too. It’s my own special blend!” she said, picking up the teapot as though it were a fine sculpture and she the artist. She poured a steaming cup and handed it to Lena then swiftly poured another. “Though I suppose it’s good I brought an extra cup, just in case.” She smiled radiantly as she passed the drink to Kane. “I’ve that dinner with the Ladies’ Charitable League tonight, but I wanted to check on you before I left.” 

She bent over Thadius, kissing his forehead. “Poor little thing! I hope he isn’t traumatized! He seems like such a sweet boy!” Then she straightened and scurried to the door, blue skirts swishing. “I’ve asked Adelaide to attend on you. She’s just outside. Tell her if you need anything. She can bring your dinner to you here if you like.”

“Thank you, Ruby. That’s very kind,” Lena said. She sipped at the tea, noting the taste of musk mallow.  _ A healing herb, _ she thought, wondering what else the lord’s daughter knew about healing.

When Ruby left, Kane stared forlornly after her. Lena felt his emotions: confusion, desire, and guilt,  blended together as thoroughly as the tea in his cup. Lena smiled. “She really does look like Princess Sarah, doesn’t she?”

Kane nodded, lifting his cup to drink the tea. Lena noticed the nasty cut across his knuckles.

“You’re hurt!” she said.

He followed her gaze down, looking at the wound on his hand as though he’d forgotten about it. “This? It’s nothing,” he said. “Happened during the fight.”

“Let me fix it,” she said, setting her teacup on the tray and sitting beside him once more.

“You don’t have to-” he began.

“Let me,” she said firmly, holding her hand out for his. “You’re not the only one who feels like a failure, you know. Let me at least do this one thing.” 

He shrugged, putting his hand in hers, and she laid her other over the top of it. Her hands glowed white with the power of her Cure, and when the glow faded she looked at the injury again, finding it sealed, still a raw pink color, likely a little sensitive, but no longer an open wound. “There now. All better,” she said, patting his hand. 

But the hand, she knew, was the least of the injuries he’d suffered that day.  _ Oh, Lena, _ she thought.  _ Always trying to fix people. _ But it was hard for her to ignore Kane’s emotions when he never ignored or suppressed them himself. “You know, Kane…” she said haltingly, feeling out her next words with care. “I’m glad. I’m glad you’re here. When we left Cornelia, I was so scared - scared of the prophecy, scared of what was expected of us. I still am, but… If I have to be a Warrior of Light… I’m glad it’s with you.” 

He smiled at her, only a small smile, but it had lost the sadness of a few moments ago. His hand squeezed hers, then he stood. “Thank you,” he said. “I should go. I need to bathe before dinner.”

“Drink your tea first,” Lena said.

He looked at the cup he still held in his other hand, drank it down. “It’s good,” he said, setting the cup on the tray, striding for the door. “I’ll check up on you two later.”

She nodded, lifting her own cup and sipping it. It didn’t  _ taste _ like healing potion, but…

“Lena?” Kane said from the doorway.

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you’re here, too.” He slipped out, shutting the door behind him.

She sat, sipping her tea, unable to decide whether the warmth she felt came from the drink or from his words.

* * *

“You should have heard the yelling!” Ruby said. “Father carried on for an hour or more! First at Harvey, then at Gabriel, then at Harvey again, then at Kane, then at all of them at once! Oh, he was like a man possessed!” She paused, adding some tiny yellow flowers to the arrangement she was working on. “Thadius, hand me those scissors. Thank you.” 

Thad watched as she fussed over her work, a tall vase filled with artfully arranged blooms. The yellow flowers looked exceptionally bright in the morning sunshine that poured through the parlor windows.  _ Morning, _ Thad thought, shaking his head. He’d slept away nearly the whole of the day before.

It had been dark when he woke, unsure where he was, and he’d cried out in fear. He remembered the fight against the mage, remembered the way the aether had pressed in on him as the man tried to Teleport him away, but he hadn’t remembered - not at first, not in the dark - running, making it as far as the guardhouse before… before nothingness. But Lena had been there when he woke, laying in the bed beside him, whispering assurances that he was safe. 

He had remembered the guardhouse then. He had remembered that he could call up his aether sight to push the darkness away. When he did, he saw that he was in Orin’s room; the monk’s deep green aura dusted everything, and the man himself slept in the padded chair near the window. He saw Lena’s clear blue aura, a beacon in the night, and he’d cried like a baby in her arms, unable to stop until the sun rose.

Breakfast had been a surreal affair. Orin hadn’t been there, but several members of the Lords’ Council were present - Leiden often met with them quite early, it seemed - and many had congratulated Thad on bringing down the rogue mage. A dark mage, apparently, a member of the Brotherhood. Thad hadn’t known any of that. 

“Bring this boy some more eggs!” Lord Hornwood had bellowed to the serving staff. He was a large man with thick legs and a barrel chest who looked more like the lumbermen he employed than like a lord. “A growing warrior needs to keep up his strength!”  

Other members of the council had said, “Here! Here!” The servants had smiled as they loaded up his plate. 

Thad hadn’t killed the mage - that was what the council meeting had been about, the question of what to do with the man. For now, they’d put him in one of the manor’s outbuildings. Though he hovered on the brink of death from his injuries, the Lords’ Council wouldn’t risk keeping him in one of the city jails, all of which were on crowded streets. Thad wasn’t sure what the council feared most: the mage harming the people of the city, or the other way around. It had been odd to Thad to think that he was responsible for such an important gathering.

After breakfast, with Orin still off somewhere and Thad not knowing what to do with himself, he walked to the parlor with Lena, Ruby, and the Hornwood girls, who had come to the manor with their father. The guards Thad passed in the hall saluted him as a hero. He didn’t feel like a hero, particularly after hearing Ruby’s description of Kane’s fight against the wandering dead the day before. It sounded far more impressive than anything he had done. He couldn’t fathom why Leiden, who had been among those praising Thad that morning, would have disapproved of Kane’s actions.  

“Well, and it serves them right!” Nicole Hornwood said from across the table. “Imagine going off to the White Quarter without an escort! They’re lucky they weren’t knifed in the street!” She added yet another bloom to her own arrangement, which was as ostentatious as her dress, a lime green affair full of lace and ribbons. Thad, who had been a tailor’s apprentice in Cornelia and knew how much work went into such a garment, hated it on sight.

Nicole’s sister, Beatrix, snorted in an unladylike manner from her place on one of the parlor’s chairs. “Please! As big as Gabriel and Kane are, I doubt they have anything to fear walking down the street, even in the roughest parts of town!” Her brown dress was plain and straight with no ornamentation at all. Her plain tastes extended to her flower arrangement as well: a single, perfect rose in a tall vase. She had the rest of the flowers Ruby had given her strewn across her lap, and she was weaving them into a crown, like a child might do.   

Thad smiled. He liked this one. He hadn’t seen many country nobles in master Edward’s shop, but the tailor had often praised them as having more common sense than their counterparts in the city. It seemed odd to Thad that it should be considered a country trait when his Pappy had called it “street smarts”. 

Beatrix caught Thad watching her and she winked. She wandered over to Lena, positioning the crown of white blossoms and green leaves on Lena’s head. Lena reached up, startled, but Beatrix gently swatted her hands away. “How does it look?” she said to Thad.

Thad grinned, nodding approval.

“Oh, honestly, Beatrix! You’re meant to put them in the vase!” Nicole said, sipping a bubbly drink from a tall glass. 

“I think she may have the right idea, actually,” Lena said. She’d filled her own vase with simple blooms, nothing showy, but it looked more like she’d plopped them all into the vase together than like she’d arranged them. “I clearly don’t have a knack for this.”

“Don’t be silly!” said Ruby, laughing as she circled the table to Lena’s side. “Why, you’ve almost got it! Just move this bloom over here as a focal point, remove a few of these leaves… See?”

Thad went around the table for a closer look. It  _ was _ better.

“What?” Lena gaped. “How did you do that?”

“I had a good teacher,” Ruby said, smiling.

“Didn’t you learn it from that gardener of yours?” Beatrix said, taking a bundle of yellow flowers from the table and returning to her chair. 

“Moore,” Ruby said, nodding. “He knew everything about plants.”

Nicole laughed. “Yes, and he was cute, too! It’s a shame what happened to him!”

Ruby’s smile faltered.

Lena quickly said, “I believe I’ll go and change.”

“Change?” Ruby said, shaking off her sad expression so quickly that Thad almost thought he’d imagined it. Almost. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing now?”

“I promised Thadius we would go to the hedge maze.”

“Oh, did you? I spent some time on the maze’s entrance yesterday, before the rain started. You’ll have to let me know what you think of it.”

Lena nodded. She looked at Thad and said, “Do you want to come upstairs with me, or wait for me here?”

He hesitated, afraid for a moment of being alone, but the fear passed in an instant. That was silly. He wouldn’t be alone, not with Ruby and the Hornwoods around. It wasn’t as if the white mage could protect him from harm any better than these social puffs could do. “I’ll wait.”

Lena smiled proudly, almost as if she’d heard his thoughts. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she headed out. 

Thad watched as Ruby continued to fuss with Lena’s arrangement, adding a flower here, removing one there, until the vase looked quite as nice as the one she’d been working on, but composed of the flowers Lena favored. As Ruby trimmed a wilted leaf, Thad recalled Oscar’s listless behavior the previous morning. He wondered if Ruby might have any advice. “So you know a lot about plants? Can I ask you a question?”

She blushed, but she smiled as she continued to fuss with the flowers on the table. “I like to think I know enough to get by.”

“Well,” he said, wondering how best to explain without revealing Oscar’s species. “I have a pet plant in a pot, but he doesn’t seem happy anymore.”

“You have a potted plant for a pet? That’s adorable!” said Nicole.

“Oh, leave him alone!” Ruby said, still smiling. She looked at Thad. “How do you know it’s not happy?”

Thad shrugged. “He just looks kind of… bad, I guess. Like… sleepy?”

“He?” Beatrix said, halfway through weaving another floral crown.

“I named it Oscar.”

“So cute!” Nicole said.

Ruby threw a leaf at her. “What kind of plant food have you tried?”

“Um… mostly fish.”

“Hmm,” Ruby said, tutting. “Fish is usually very good for the soil.”

“The soil. Right,” Thad said, nodding. Maybe they needed some kind of fertilizer? He hadn’t thought of that before.

“Have you repotted it, I mean,  _ him, _ lately?” 

“No,” Thad said. “How do I do that?”

“It’s very simple,” Ruby said. “Just get a pot that’s slightly larger than the current one and move the… um, Oscar right over. New soil, plenty of water. Bit of mulch at the base. See if that doesn’t fix him up.”

“Yeah, simple.” Thad nodded, wondering how he’d pull it off. How many men would it take to wrestle all those tentacle-vines into submission? What would they do about that toothy mouth?

As he pondered this enterprise, Jack appeared, standing in the parlor doorway without coming in. He was out of breath, like he’d been running. Perhaps he had been. He had been forced for politeness sake to discuss Leifenish history with Lord and Lady Hornwood, and had only just, it seemed, managed to extricate himself from the dining hall. “There you are!” he said to Thad. “I’ve been looking everywhere!”

“For me?” Thad said, surprised. He wondered if the mage was angry at him - at breakfast, Lena had sat with Thad, and Thad had seen the way Jack kept looking at her, as though he were disappointed she hadn't sat by him as she usually did. Thad looked at Jack now, trying to guess his mood, but it was hard to determine his expression beneath his scarf. 

“Yes,” Jack said, sounding friendly enough. “Orin spoke to me before breakfast. He said he had things to see to today. He suggested you might like to come to town with us. Kane and me, I mean. We’re going to Seward’s.”

Thad opened his mouth to say yes, but he hesitated. Part of him did want to go, tempted by the chance to spend a day with both Kane and Jack, but another part of him whispered that town was where all the dark mages were. “I’m… I’m spending the day with Lena,” Thad said hesitantly. 

Jack stared at him for a long beat, expression unreadable, and Thad worried Jack knew he was afraid, but eventually Jack said, “I suppose she could come along if she likes.”

“Come along where?” Lena’s voice came from the hallway behind him. 

Jack whipped about. He looked at her, or rather at her legs, stunned, then looked away again. Lena was wearing the brown tunic and short pants that Thad knew meant she intended to get in the water. She still wore the crown of flowers, the tiny, white blooms setting off her red hair, and she held in one hand the wrinkled paper with the map to the frog pond that Ruby had drawn for her. She frowned up at the tall black mage.

“My lady,” Jack said, bowing slightly. “I was just inviting Thad to join us for lunch at Seward’s today. Would you like to come?”

Nicole laughed, snorting on her bubbly drink. “You’d ask her to town when she’s dressed like that?” 

Jack blushed, but the way his eyes kept darting to Lena’s legs and back revealed an inner struggle. “I would ask her whatever she was wearing.” 

Ruby and Nicole giggled. Beatrix smirked. But Lena looked at her feet, her mouth a thin line. Thad held his breath, worried she would say yes and he would then have to admit he was too cowardly to go, but Lena said, “Thad and I had other plans this morning.”

“Yes, he said as much. Perhaps afterwards? We’re not leaving just yet...” 

He trailed off when the sidedoor to the kitchens opened and Berta, the cook, came in, carrying a basket. She curtsied to Ruby, then walked over to Lena. “Your picnic, miss,” she said.

“A picnic?” Thad said, with growing excitement. “You ordered us a picnic?”

“Ah! Forgive me!” said Jack, chuckling. “I didn’t realize your plans were such elaborate ones. Can I walk you out, at least?”

Lena nodded. They bid farewell to Ruby and the Hornwood girls, then Thad hurried over to offer Lena his arm before Jack could do the same.  _ She’s mine today! _ Thad thought.  _ I won’t give you a chance to change her mind! _

A pair of guards - Jack’s - followed as they made their way to the house’s back door and out of it. As they reached the garden entrance, Jack motioned the guards to wait outside. He walked with Thad and Lena past the fountain, then looked back to make sure the guards were out of earshot. He looked at Lena, and this time he managed to keep his eyes on her face instead of her legs. “It’s supposed to be hot again today.”

“Yes,” said Lena. 

“If I may?” he said, motioning toward the picnic basket. Lena raised a questioning eyebrow, but she held the basket out to him. Jack reached in, plucking out a waterskin, and his eyes glowed white with a corona of frost. He tossed the skin lightly to Thad, and Thad nearly dropped it in surprise: inside, it was solid ice. Jack’s eyes showed that he was smiling beneath his scarf. “That should keep you cool for awhile,” he said with a self-satisfied nod. 

“Thank you,” Lena said, stepping toward the maze, pulling Thad by his arm.

“Lena?” Jack said behind them. She looked back. “We won’t be leaving for at least an hour, if you change your mind.”

She hesitated, but Thad waved and cheerfully said, “Bye, Jack!” then he pulled her along into the hedge maze before she could reconsider.

* * *

They had more guards today, far more than Jack was used to. Corporal Clyne was there, as were the others he’d come to know - Hector, Bentley, and Chad - but so too were a dozen others. The guards walked both ahead and behind, clearing a path through the sedate Blue Quarter. It was far more guards than was necessary for Jack and Kane alone. Then again, they weren’t alone.

“Why are  _ they _ here?” Jack whispered as they turned onto Seward’s street.  

Kane rolled his eyes. “Because I invited them.” 

Ahead of them, Harvey stretched as he yawned, complaining to Sergeant Quincey yet again - albeit good-naturedly - about the early hour, though it was by now close to lunchtime. Jack had kept them all waiting, hoping Lena would change her mind and join them, but his lady hadn’t come. He wondered, again, if she was avoiding him, which would only be fair considering he’d been avoiding her since that embarrassing encounter yesterday morning. He’d told himself he would stay away from her until he’d learned better control of the aether, but seeing her there in that short tunic, his resolve had utterly failed him.

_ Of course, it’s just as well she didn’t come, _ Jack thought, watching Quincey and their extra guards warily. “But  _ why _ did you invite them, exactly?” It wasn’t that Jack disliked the cheerful young lord, or even the stern sergeant. It was just that he couldn’t be himself around them, forced to pretend he wasn’t a mage, that he was nothing more than a bastard scholar. At least without Lena there, he didn’t have to worry as much about losing his hold on the aether.

Kane sighed, exasperated. “Because they saw the thing, too, Jack. If you really think Seward’s library can tell us anything about that creature, they need to know.”

Jack shrugged, but he didn’t argue. By his own admission, his education had been unforgivably light on the study of monsters. He knew only of the famous ones described in classical literature, or those that were commonly used as sources of spell components. He’d never heard of any creature that resembled the frightful woman Kane had described.

Seward didn’t seem to mind his extra guests, taking it all in stride, a man prepared to talk at length with anyone on any number of subjects, though the presence of their numerous guards did cause Liza the housekeeper to exclaim that she’d nowhere to put all of them.  

“Just stick them all in the dining room, my dear. We’ll have  _ our _ lunch on the back terrace,” Seward said, leading Jack and his companions toward the library.

“That’s kind of you, Lord Unne, but you needn’t serve us lunch,” Harvey said. “We’re only here for a bit of research.”

“Nonsense, my boy! Do I look to you to be the sort of man who ever misses the opportunity for a fine meal?” He swept into the huge, book-lined room with the orrery whirring away in the corner, a tiny replica of the world and its moon. Jack sidled casually toward the table he’d been using for his studies, making sure his own notes were tucked out of sight, while Seward walked toward a wall of shelves. “So what sort of research did you have in mind? Some linguistic interest? Or perhaps some historic concern? No - don’t tell me! - you’ll be wanting to know about that new mine they’ve just opened on Half-Moon, yes? I have all the reports right-”

The portly lord stopped, appearing to notice he had no listeners. Harvey had gone straight for the orrery, watching its motions with an expression of childish delight. Kane stood with him, pointing out some interesting mechanism, while Sergeant Quincey stood close behind them, scowling. 

“For pity’s sake,” Seward muttered.

“Seward,” Jack said, speaking low. “Be careful what you say. These two don’t know I’m a mage. I suspect they wouldn’t take it well.” 

“Oh, dear,” Seward said. “I wish you’d sent word. I was reading from Miss Lena’s spellbook this morning. My notes are all over that table.”

Jack looked at the indicated table and cursed. The table was near the window where the light was better, but far enough away that neither of them could go over and tidy up without drawing attention. 

“It will be fine, my lad. Just play along,” Seward said, moving toward the orrery.

“Is that a machina?” Quincey said, pointing.

Seward rolled his eyes. “My dear boy, I can’t imagine what else you’d think it could be.”

“A real machina!” Harvey said. “I thought they were illegal!”

“That’s because they are,” Quincey intoned.

Seward stood with his hands on his hips, managing to look down on the sergeant despite being a full two hands shorter. “Young man, I believe if you check the city code, under statute thirty-six in the mercantile section, you’ll find that only the mass production and distribution of machina is illegal in Melmond. I should know - after all, my father is the one who wrote that law. I have a bound copy of the city ordinances here, if you’d like a moment to review it.” 

“That won’t be necessary, Lord Unne!” Harvey said quickly. “I’m sure Gabriel’s sorry for insinuating that-”

“Yes,” Quincey said, cutting his friend off. “I believe I  _ would _ like to review it.”

Harvey gasped, clearly worried about offending their host, but Seward only laughed. “Oho! Now that’s what I like to see from Melmond’s finest! Yes, indeed!” He moved to one of the shelves on the side of the room where he kept books of local interests, passing by the table with Lena’s book. The sun shone directly onto an aether diagram on the book’s open pages, its glittering golden ink catching Jack’s eye. His heart skipped a beat, but a glance at Harvey and the sergeant showed that they hadn’t noticed the incriminating book. They watched Seward pluck down a thick volume which he quickly flipped through as though he knew its contents quite well. “Here you are,” he said, crossing the room and passing it to the sergeant showing the relevant page.

As Quincey read, his scowl was replaced by a contrite frown. “I see,” he said, closing the book gently and handing it back. “Forgive my impertinence, sir. I was mistaken.”

Seward chuckled. “You’re forgiven! You’d be Seymour’s son, then? I had heard that Lord Quincey had a son in the corp of some rank, but I didn’t realize he’d be so young!”

“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant.

Seward handed the law book to Jack with a subtle wink and said, “Jack, would you put that away? Thank you.” Then he turned back to the others. “Well, you mentioned some manner of research? Clearly you’re not here to discuss machina!”

“Right!” Harvey said. “Jack said you had bestiaries? Some information about dangerous monsters?”

Jack crossed the room, slipping the law book back onto its shelf before turning his attention to the spellbook on its sunny table. He picked it up, pretending it had caught his eye as he was passing. He flipped through a few pages, then shut it, sliding it onto the nearby shelf that held his own spellbook. Then he pretended to idly look through Seward’s notes, straightening as he went. 

Seward replied, “Indeed, I have! What prompted this line of study, if I may ask?”

“There was an attack in the White Quarter yesterday,” said Quincey.

“Yes, I heard about that! Dead men, they say! But you’ll not find that in any bestiary. That seems to have been some manner of white magic curse!”

Jack had to stop himself from making an indignant reply. Necromancy was white magic, true, but to call the resultant abominations a “white magic curse” revealed an ignorance of magic that disappointed him, particularly coming from his scholarly friend. It bothered him that even someone as intelligent as Seward, who’d spent the past week studying the most illustrious white magic tome in the world, still distrusted and feared that power, as much as Jack feared speaking up in defense of it in their present company. 

It surprised him, therefore, when Sergeant Quincey said, “No. I don’t believe that. White magic doesn’t work that way.”

Seward shrugged. “I’m only repeating what the rumors say.”

“Hang the rumors,” Quincey muttered.

“Magic or not,” Kane said, “there  _ was _ something else, some other creature there with the dead. That’s what we need to know about.”

“You saw this creature?” Seward asked.

The others nodded.

“Alright then,” Seward said, wandering toward the library’s biology section and pulling a fat book from beneath a dusty coeurl skull. Jack continued to gather Seward’s papers, stopping when he found another set of notes in a looping, delicate hand.  _ Lena’s notes, _ he realized. He stacked the various papers from the table, keeping hers on top, but he didn’t put them away. 

Seward said, “We’ll start with a dichotomous key. That’s a tool for identifying things you’ve seen when you don’t know what they are. Tell me, what do you remember most about this beast?”

“Teeth,” Kane and Harvey said together. Harvey shuddered.

“Hmm,” Seward said, giving them a flat look over the volume he held. “I’m afraid that doesn’t narrow it down at all. What else?”

“It was a woman,” Kane said. “Gorgeous, until she wasn’t.”

“Ah!” Seward said, flipping pages. “That is useful! Believe it or not, there’s a whole subsection of animals that resemble gorgeous women. Right up until they eat you, that is! Any other distinguishing characteristics?”

“She could freeze you with a look,” Harvey said.

“That’s something. Give me a moment,” Seward said.

The others waited patiently, Quincey scanning Seward’s shelves as their host searched the book, Kane and Harvey watching the orrery in the corner. While they were occupied, Jack looked down at the papers in his hands, wondering what Lena had learned. He hadn’t had an opportunity to discuss her studies with her. He could see that she’d translated the story of Ffamran and the dragon, though with many scribbles and mistakes.  _ Nothing wrong with mistakes, _ he thought.  _ Mistakes lead to knowledge. _ Her copy of the Dispel aether diagram that accompanied the story, however, was perfect.  _ Has she learned the spell yet? _ With everything going on he hadn’t thought to ask her. 

There were several other copied diagrams, some for spells he hadn’t heard of, and he realized that at some point along the way, Lena had begun studying the diagrams more than the stories.  _ When was the last time I had a conversation about magic with her? _ he thought, only to remember it had been here, in this room, when she’d told him she didn’t need him as more than a friend.  _ And yet I have permission to kiss her, _ he thought, wondering how  _ that _ particular change in their circumstances fit into all of this.   

“Here’s a promising one!” Seward said, holding his book out to the others. “The lamia! Half woman, half snake.”

Jack froze, numb, as a memory flashed across his vision, a memory of fire. He heard its voice:  _ “You’re weak, witch! What makes you think you can defeat me?”  _

_ Half woman, half snake…  _

Seward said, “It was first described in Stiltskin’s  _ Moogles in the Mist,  _ an old book, mostly discredited. It says here the lamia has the power to charm its victims so that they’re powerless against its attacks. Look here. Is that what you saw?”

“I don’t think so,” Harvey said. “Surely we would have noticed the tail, right? I don’t remember seeing one.”

“She had legs,” Kane said. “Trust me. That dress didn’t leave anything to the imagination.”

Sergeant Quincey shook his head. “She looked human enough at first glance. But… she did turn into smoke at the end. Does your book have anything like that in it?”

“Hmm, some kind phase-shifting? Yes, there are a few. An elemental, perhaps? They have been known on occasion to appear in humanoid form…” Seward said, rapidly turning pages.

Jack sank into a chair at the sunny table. He stared down at Lena’s notes without seeing them, seeing instead that burning forest, his memory recalling the event in crisp detail as though he were still living it, as though fifteen years hadn’t passed since that terrible night. 

A maid came in to say, “Lunch is ready, my lords.”

“Well, we’ll continue after we’ve eaten,” Seward said, setting the bestiary down and waving the others ahead of him toward the door.  

Jack set Lena’s papers facedown on the table and stood, following the others, but he stopped when he reached the bestiary, his curiosity too great to ignore. 

“Jack? Are you coming?” Kane said.

“I’m not hungry,” he said.

Kane sighed but didn’t press further. “Suit yourself,” he said. As he and the others left, Jack could hear him mumbling about Jack’s poor diet.

He took the bestiary to one of the padded chairs where Seward often took his afternoon naps, but he sat on the chair’s edge rather than sinking back into the cushions. He skimmed the book’s index, finding what he needed. His heart thumped as he turned to the relevant page.

_ “Lamia, called also “lilith” by the Leifenish. A distant relative of the naga. While often spoken of in Leifenish texts, the lamia is now believed to be extinct, though the naga can still be found in the caves of Fosshio and of Eburana which border the Eidolon Wastes. Though small of stature, lamia were noted to be deadly because of their ability to hypnotize their victims, leaving them unable to defend themselves.” _

The illustration was nothing like the thing he remembered. The artist had drawn it with a delicate, heart-shaped face and a rosebud mouth. The coiling tail encircled a knight, and the pale arms of the creature - her human half no bigger than any other young woman - could not even reach all the way around the man’s armored chest. She had only two arms, and Jack had trouble imagining them breaking a stout branch, let alone a whole tree.

He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  _ Silly, _ he thought.  _ Ridiculous. _ Why should he be afraid of words in a book? Even if the lamia had been the creature from his memory, it wasn’t as if that knowledge would change anything. 

He knew he should join the others - he  _ was _ hungry after all - but something kept him in the chair, some sense of foreboding, and he found himself reading the rest of the passage. 

_ “Lamia were magical creatures by nature, each capable of using their hypnotic spells to varying degrees. But, as with other humanoid monsters, there were occasionally mages born among them. When such creatures lived long enough, prolonged use of the aether could cause physiological changes including dramatic increases in size and the growth of additional limbs…” _

Jack stopped, remembering again. _ Six arms, each holding a sword. Gods…  _ He read on, his stomach sinking. 

_ “This creature, known as the lamia queen, or “marilith” in Leifenish, could purportedly reach heights as tall as three men together, with the strength of behemoths and an appetite to match.” _

There was no illustration of the marilith, but Jack knew. This was it, the thing that had killed his mother, the thing that had burned him. 

_ It has a name. My nightmare has a name. _

* * *

“I think he’s waking.” 

Porter drifted into consciousness on a hard cot. He hurt so much. His face, his head, his gut… It took him a moment to remember that that child, the little black mage, had stabbed him. He was sweating. He was sure he’d never felt such a powerful thirst. He tried to speak, to ask where he was, but all that came out was a moan.

A man stood over him, outlined by the light of the open door behind him. Porter couldn’t identify his features. The man held a cup to his lips.

“Drink.” 

Porter did, choking as the man all but poured the liquid down his throat. Water, but with an acrid aftertaste that told him it was drugged. He was so thirsty, he hadn’t the energy to care.

It was bright outside, and he blinked against that brightness as he surveyed his surroundings. His cell was small and windowless, the walls wooden. His hands were tied, his arms stretched above his head by the rope which had been looped over a hook high on the wall. He could see guards standing outside, and a green slope that certainly couldn’t have been in the city. Had they moved him to the countryside? 

He thought there were two men in the room with him, but it was too dark to see clearly. He called up his aether sight, swaying from a sudden dizziness.

The man held a cool hand to Porter’s brow, then pulled at his side where the bandages were wound tight. Porter hissed in pain; the man wasn’t gentle about it. “Fever,” the man said. “The wound’s likely infected.”

“I have heard that abdominal wounds such as this generally result in a slow and regrettably painful death,” another voice said, older and lightly accented.

The first man chuckled. “Sounds a bit petty, coming from you.”

“This man attacked young master Shipman. My feelings toward him are more than petty.”

“Fair enough. But I need him alive.”

“Can you heal this infection without healing the wound?”

“I suppose we’ll find out.”

Those rough hands glowed.  _ White magic! _ Porter realized, before he cried out as his wound began to sting. He waited for the Cure to resolve itself and ease the pain, but when the glow faded, the wound was still there, still painful. “Please,” Porter begged. “Please!”

“I don’t think so, friend,” the man said in a decidedly unfriendly tone. “I won’t risk healing a man who can apparently Teleport at will. That gut wound is the only thing keeping you here.”

“No! Please! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Porter lied.

“I think you do. You Teleported three times in eight hours that we know of - twice while hauling six-stone’s worth of squirming boy. That shouldn’t be possible.” The man leaned closer, his hand pressing down on Porter’s midsection until Porter saw stars. “But I know a thing or two about Teleport, you see. I know what it does to a body: the force, the pressure? I suspect if you were to try it now, your intestines would come spilling out of this hole the boy stuck in you.”

Porter gasped against the pain. When he could steady his voice again, he said, “What kind of white mage are you?”

“I’m not a white mage,” the man said. “You should know that. I believe your kind had a hand in wiping them out in these parts.”

_ Not a white mage? _ But that had been a Cure, hadn’t it? Porter tried to focus his watery eyes enough to see the man he was speaking to, tried to focus his mind enough to call up his aether sight. He was growing used to the darkness, could just make out the man’s long white hair, the hard angles of his face. Porter had seen this man before, using both black and white spells in that empty theater. “You’re the red mage,” he said. “The one who stopped the ritual.”

“I am,” the man said. “And now my associate and I have a few questions to ask you about that.”

“Associate?” Porter said, looking toward the other man. His aether sight was slowly coming into view like a faraway ship seen through a spyglass. The man by the door became a bright outline of aether, and then the aether took on the color of his aura, a deep, dark green.  _ The White Wind...  _ Porter moaned. He was dead. He was surely dead.

He tried to flee. It was almost instinctual, that impulse to grab the aether and see what kind of Teleport he could make from it, but when he reached for the power, his vision swam. His head fell back against the hard cot, and he remembered only then that they had drugged him. He whimpered. 

The red mage watched him, almost as if he knew Porter had tried to cast a spell. “Now,” he said, smiling wickedly. “You can talk to me… Or…” He cocked his head toward the old assassin. “You can talk to him. But let me make one thing clear to you. You’re only useful to us as long as you’re talking.”

* * *

Lena sat beside the tranquil frog pond in the shelter of the hedge maze. She had spent a few minutes practicing Dispel, a few more working on her rain-repelling charm. She’d started one of the two-gil novels Ruby had lent her - regrettably, a romance - then she set it down again. She sighed. 

“Lena!” Thad said. “Lena, watch this!” He dove under the shallow water, and soon his bare feet stuck out into the air, swaying. His head popped up again. “Did you see? I stood on my hands!”

“Very nice,” Lena said, trying to smile encouragingly. 

Thad, not seeming to notice her glum mood, came dripping out of the pond and plopped down beside the basket. Berta didn’t much care for Lena - Lena didn’t know why - but the cook had packed the basket generously, knowing it was for the boy. There was cake, and preserves, and plums, more than the two of them could ever eat, particularly following so close on the heels of their breakfasts, though Thad was managing to demolish the cake quite handily. She was somewhat hungry herself, but then she had only picked at her meal that morning, having other things on her mind. She plucked out a bit of the cake for herself while there was still some left. 

“Did you hear?” Thad asked around a mouthful of crumbs. “Kane said I could train with him in the yard tomorrow.”

“Yes, I heard. He was very worried about you yesterday.” Her words brought a wave of warmth from the boy and she knew he was pleased. Not so much pleased because he wanted Kane to worry, she suspected, but because Kane cared about him enough to do so. Thadius wanted so much for his friends to like him. Lena remembered her conversation with the guardsman the day before, how beaten down he was. If such a brave and gifted warrior doubted himself, she pondered, what chance did a little boy like Thad have?  _ What chance do any of us have, really? _ she thought. 

“Was Jack worried?” Thad said.

“Surely he must have been,” Lena said. She could assume that much, couldn’t she?  _ But then… I assumed he liked me,  _ she thought. Out loud, she said, “But I didn’t see him yesterday, except once in the morning.” She did not add that they had been sharing a bed at the time. 

She nibbled at her cake, watching as Thad chased frogs through a stand of cattails. She grabbed the waterskin for a drink, but to her surprise, it was still mostly ice.  _ We haven’t been here that long, _ she realized.  _ Jack might not even be gone yet. _ She found she was tempted to go back to the house.

Instead, she got in the water, letting herself sink to the bottom, and she waited in the cool mud until she could no longer hold her breath. Then she stood, hair dripping, and let everyone else’s emotions wash away. It did nothing to ease the ache in her chest, the pained confusion that had settled over her - those feelings were wholly her own.

* * *

They left Seward’s in the late afternoon, and though they hadn’t found the information they’d been looking for, Kane wasn’t going back empty handed. In a satchel over his shoulder, he carried the gifts Lord Unne had given him before they departed: a book of machina design, and the little wind-up device on wheels they’d toyed with on his previous visits. Gabriel had made several sarcastic comments about the illegality of machina distribution, but Kane thought him unlikely to arrest anyone over it. 

“I quite liked the man!” said Harvey, speaking of Seward. They were nearly back at the manor now, and the young lord was using a thin stick to whack the tops off the tall grasses beside the path, like a child playing at swords.

“You like everyone,” Gabriel grumbled.

Kane chuckled at the exchange. He walked behind the two of them, next to Jack. The black mage had been quiet since lunchtime, more than usual even for him. While Kane and the others had looked through dozens of bestiaries, Jack had been conducting research of his own, copying every book’s entry on the creature called the lamia and making page after page of notes that he kept looking at as they walked. Kane had tried to ask him about them, but the mage was reticent as always. Kane knew he’d never get it out of him while they were surrounded by their numerous guards. 

Harvey went on, speaking casually to Kane over his shoulder. “Such an interesting conversationalist! For a vestigial lord, he seemed well-versed in international affairs. Most I’ve talked to know little more than their own business! It’s part of the reason they squabble so much, father says!”

“Vestigial lord?” Kane asked.

“Well, ‘Lord of Half-Moon Mountain’ is a minor title, not what it once was. Lord Unne doesn’t even have a place on the Lords’ Council. The Unnes are still among the high families, of course, but, well, not all  _ that _ high.”

“High enough for you to use his library,” Jack muttered. “High enough for you to eat at his table.”

“Hush,” Kane said. He knew Harvey hadn’t meant anything by it, though deep down, he too was offended on Seward’s behalf. The man did know a lot about politics, both foreign and local. It seemed a shame that knowledge couldn’t be put to use for the good of the city-state somehow. 

“About as high as Lord of the West Hills,” Gabriel said, throwing Jack such an arch look that Kane knew he’d heard Jack’s muttering. Jack met that look with one of his own, emotionless and steady. Kane felt a chill that could have been a breeze, but he doubted it. He’d already noticed that Jack was the only one in their group who wasn’t sweating from the summer heat. 

Harvey cleared his throat awkwardly. “Indeed! Lord Unne and Lord Carmine are of equal rank, you’re right.” He let out a forced laugh. “Why, father once told me that when your father and uncle would attend council meetings as young men, the council would make them sit quietly in a corner! Can you imagine? The sons of Titan himself!”

Gabriel sighed. “His rank is equal to Lord Pollendina’s,” he said, looking at Kane, and Kane knew from his tone that he meant it as an apology. “Technically higher, since the Pollendina family doesn’t even have any lands left.”

“That’s right!” said Harvey. “If Vince weren’t Lord Secretary he wouldn’t have a place in the council either. It’s an elected position, you see, though you do have to be a noble to run for it.”

By then, they’d reached the house. Most of their guards stayed outside, though four, one for each of them, followed them up the porch and inside. The one called Bentley stayed with Kane, while Clyne, the one with the odd nose, followed Jack. Harvey said something about dressing for dinner then he and Gabriel headed off toward their respective rooms at the back of the house. 

As Kane and Jack walked past the parlor toward the stairs, Jack began to read his notes again. “What’s got you so interested?” Kane asked.

“It’s nothing,” Jack said without looking up. 

“Is it?” Kane said, grabbing at the top page as Jack was flipping to the page beneath it. 

“Kane!” Jack hissed. “Give it back!” 

Kane laughed, dancing out of his reach. He ducked behind Corporal Clyne, satisfied to see that the corporal played along, a crooked smirk on his face as he thwarted Jack’s efforts to get by. Kane took a good look at the paper he held. “It’s all in Leifenish,” he said, disgustedly. “How am I supposed to know all your secrets if you won’t use plain speech?”

Jack snatched the paper back. “Serves you right for shamefully neglecting your own studies!” He grumbled a Leifenish phrase as he straightened the stack of pages, trailing off into silence.

Kane crossed his arms and tried to imitate his father’s sternest face. “I like to think I’ve studied enough to know what  _ that _ phrase-”

“Shh,” Jack said, holding up a finger. He was looking toward the parlor door, and Kane soon realized he heard voices, Orin’s and one other, a woman. Jack moved closer, stealing a quick glance inside, and Kane followed to do the same. 

Orin sat on one of the couches, surrounded by a handful of uniformed men, two Avenue Inspectors and three regular guard corps. The woman stood before him, her back to the door. She seemed frantic, trembling wildly as she spoke. “He ain’t been back! Not once all night! No one’s seen him! Please, master monk-”

“It’s Mrs. Gainsborough,” Jack whispered. “The woman I told you about.”

“The one whose son-” Kane stopped, remembering Clyne and Bentley, then said, “whose son is friends with Shipman?”

Jack nodded.

“We will do all we can to find your Noah,” Orin told her. “I will ask the inspectors to see to it personally. You have my word. Tell me, when did you last see him?”

A hand fell on Kane’s shoulder, and he and Jack were pulled away from the door. His father stood behind them, keeping a firm grip on them both. “Aren’t you too old for eavesdropping?” he said, adding a mumbled, “A disappointment to your mothers, both of you.” He propelled Kane and Jack toward the stairs, and when their guards followed, he barked, “You two! Wait here and ask Lord Orin to join us upstairs when he’s finished.” The guards stopped where they were, though Clyne made a sour face. 

Upstairs in their room, Redden closed the door and locked it behind him, leaning against it in a relaxed pose that seemed to say he was shutting the rest of the world out rather than locking the two of them in. “Alright, what did you find?”

_ Of course he’d want a report, _ Kane thought. It had taken a protracted argument for Kane to convince his father to let him out of the manor again, even with as many guards as they’d had, but Lord Redden had agreed that they needed more information about the thing Kane had faced, agreed so strongly that it had been Redden who convinced Lord Leiden to let Harvey and Gabriel go along. Kane leaned against the wall beside the window, mimicking his father’s pose. “Nothing useful,” he said shrugging. “We searched nearly a dozen bestiaries. Some of the animals seemed promising, but none were exactly right.” 

“It was magical,” said Jack, sitting in a slouch on the bed. “A construct or a familiar. Perhaps a human mage corrupted by extraordinary powers.”

Kane cocked his head at that. “How do you figure?”

“As you said, we checked dozens of bestiaries, but Seward’s library doesn’t have any books on magical creatures. If we didn’t find it there, that’s why.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Kane snapped.

“How could I? Do you really want me to start spouting talk of magic in front of your new friends?” Jack said, the last word dripping spite.

Kane sighed. “You’re still mad at me for inviting them?” 

Redden cleared his throat as if to say, “Can we get on with it?”

Jack turned to Lord Redden. “I took a quick glance at Astos’s book while we were there. I thought if it discussed ochus, it might perhaps discuss other magical beasts as well. But I haven’t finished translating it yet. It’s possible it might contain something-”

“It won’t,” said Redden, shaking his head. “That beast won’t be in any black magic book. Orin and I questioned the dark mage today.”

“You  _ what?” _ Kane barked.

His father held up a hand to silence him. “The thing you fought… I think it  _ was _ magical, a thing called a vampire.”

From the bed, Jack muttered, “Vampire…” as though he were testing the word, rolling it over and over in his mouth.  “Vampire…”

“From the Leifenish, yes,” said Redden. “Means ‘blood drinker’. And they do drink blood. They strike at night, bite their victims in the neck. Leave bruises that look like plague sores.”

“The night plague,” Jack said.

Redden nodded. “The night plague. They can also Teleport through shadow. They fear sunlight and can paralyze their victims with a look.”

Kane remembered the creature’s screech as the clouds had parted, letting the sunshine in. He whistled out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “That sounds like our mystery girl. How do we kill it?”

Redden sighed. “That’s where it gets complicated. See, vampires aren’t ordinary magical creatures. They’re made. What Jack called a ‘construct’. Things like these, you kill one, another will just takes its place. We have to kill the maker. And this one… Well, a vampire is a necromantic construct.”

“Gods,” Jack whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “A necromancer, here?”

Redden nodded. He faced Kane. “You know necromancy is a corruption of white magic. What you don’t know is that the longer a necromancer keeps it up, the less power he has. The way white magic works, it uses up their souls. A healthy soul grows back, but not a necromancer’s. That is,  _ if _ the necromancer is a white mage. There’s nothing stopping a dark mage from practicing white magic, and using other people’s souls to do it. The Brotherhood here in Melmond, they’re led by a man named Eldieme. He’s been hunting down the white mages in the surrounding countryside for more than a year.”

“From the sound of things, he’s just found himself another one,” Kane said. 

Redden nodded again. “Thad’s little friend, that boy from the lower town. His mother came looking for him here, hoped he and Thad were together. Leiden doesn’t know the boy was a mage; his mother was smart enough to leave that bit out when she spoke to the guards.”

“Right after one of them tried to take Thad, they take his friend?” Jack said. “How did Thad take the news?” 

Redden raised an eyebrow. “We haven’t told him yet. We thought he was with you.”

“He didn’t go out with us today,” said Kane.

Redden turned a penetrating gaze on Jack. “Orin said he asked you to watch him.”

“He did!” Jack said quickly. “That is, I invited him, but he and Lena had plans.”

“You mean to say you’ve lost both of them?” Redden said, his frown deepening. Kane found himself frowning as well. “No one’s seen either of them since this morning! Everyone assumed they went out with you two!”

Jack’s eyes widened. “I didn’t lose- I mean, not really! I’m sure they’re, or, I think…” He stopped, pinching the space between his eyebrows. After taking a minute to compose himself, he tried again. “I might know where they are.”

“In that case,” Redden said, flicking the lock open as he stepped away from the door and gestured toward it, “why are you still sitting there?” 

Jack stood stiffly and walked out mumbling. 

Redden shook his head. “I’ll have to talk to him about language again.” He looked toward Kane then, raising a critical eyebrow. Kane still leaned against the wall, arms crossed in front of him. Redden pulled out the room’s only chair. He moved it closer to the bed and sat down, motioning for Kane to sit on the bed across from him. When Kane did, their knees close enough to bump each other if they weren’t careful, Redden said, “I needed to talk to you alone anyway.”

Kane said nothing. He waited.

“I was wrong to let you leave today,” his father said.

“Just because we didn’t find any information on the creature-” Kane began, but his father held up a hand.

“What I meant was I should have kept you with me.”

Kane blinked. “With you?”

“When I questioned that dark mage. I should have had you with me.”

Kane’s lips moved, trying to form the questions firing through his mind, trying to pick to just one. Eventually, he settled on, “Why?”

“It’s hard, as a father, to admit your child is a grown man now. I hope you learn that someday. I truly do.” Redden smiled ruefully. 

“What does that mean?” Kane said.

“It means… that I can’t keep protecting you from this,” Redden said, shaking his head. “The Brotherhood…  Prophecies - yours, mine. When I heard you and Harvey had been attacked by some monster, when you and Jack went off to fight Astos on your own, when I watched you kill Garland… Kane, you don’t know how that feels, how it twists me up inside to know my son -  _ my _ son - is in danger. Every time, I wish I’d been there. Every time, I wish I could keep you safe. But I can’t.” He leaned forward, gripping Kane’s shoulder with one rough hand. “All I can do is fight beside you. So I will. I’m asking you, son: Will you let me?”

Kane sat, stunned, watching his father’s face, unsure how to respond. His father, asking something like that? This was the man who negated Kane’s wildest ideas, who naysayed his reckless plans. What did it mean, if he was asking to join him now? “Father,” Kane said, still formulating his response.

“I want to plan an attack against them,” Redden said. He sat back, releasing Kane’s shoulder, but Kane still felt the pressure of his hand. “Against the Brotherhood. A trap of some sort. I haven’t sorted out the details, but I’ll need every capable swordsman I can get. To my mind, that includes you. Fight with me.” 

Kane sat silently. His father’s eyes were still locked on his, waiting for his answer. How much trouble would he have got himself into over the years without his father there to stop him? Then again…

How much bolder would his wild ideas and reckless plans have been if his father had been beside him, helping them along? 

And so Kane said, “Yes. Yes, I will.”

* * *

Rested and refreshed, but with sun-bleary eyes, Lena dug through the picnic basket, searching for Ruby’s hand-drawn directions. Though she’d been through the maze many times now, she still had trouble remembering some of the turns. “Have you seen the map?” she asked.  

“No,” said Thad, chasing frogs. “Not since we got here.”

She searched more diligently, moving the remains of their meal aside to look underneath. The cake was gone, but most of the fruit was still there, as was the frozen waterskin Jack had made for them. But no map. “Where could it have got to?”

“I can lead us out!” Thad said brightly, wiping his hands on his trousers. “I can read the aether well enough to follow our trail!”

“Alright,” she said, shifting the basket’s contents so that it rested more evenly on her arm. “Lead the way!” He beamed at her, zipping through the archway of climbing roses in such high spirits that she laughed as she followed him. 

They’d only made three turns before he stopped, looking back and forth in confusion. 

“What’s wrong?” she said. “You’re doing fine so far. I remember that last bit well enough.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “The trail ends here…”

“Ends? What do you mean?”

He shook his head. “It just… ends. I can see the way back to the pond, and I can see that we came through here when we arrived, but right about…” He gestured vaguely toward a bush. “Right about there? There’s nothing.” He walked forward, squinting, then shook his head, and Lena could feel his frustration. “I’m sorry! I don’t know what I did wrong! I really thought I could do it!”

“It’s alright, Thadius. You’re still new at this.” She slipped the picnic basket to the ground and knelt beside it, picking out its contents one by one. “I’m sure I have that map here somewhere,” she said, but a few minutes later, she hadn’t found it. She sighed, reloading the basket. “Well, I think I can almost remember the way…”

They walked slowly, backtracking often. Thad kept reading the aether all the while; whenever they made a wrong turn, he was able to guide them back to the last intersection. Lena could feel his spirits lifting as she praised his cleverness, but she also had to admit that navigating the maze like this was more fun than following the map. 

They laughed as Thad let Lena lead, following her spotty memories of how she thought the maze went, and they came to yet another dead end. “It’s a good thing we’re not in any hurry,” she said, shaking her head at herself. She’d been so certain of that last turn.

“Lena?” a voice called, and moments later, “Thad?”

“Jack?” Thad answered.

“It can’t be,” she said. “He’s gone to town.”

But she knew it was him when he shouted again. “Thad! Where in Ramuh’s name are you?” He sounded angry. 

“We’re in the maze!” said Thad.

“I  _ know _ that!” said Jack. “I meant-” He growled slightly. “Nevermind. Just stay where you are. I’ll find you.”

Lena could hear the sounds of his progress, the cracking of branches as he forced his way through the overgrowth. As she listened, she realized she could feel him as well. He was worried.  _ About us? _ she wondered.  _ About me? _ She dismissed the thought out of hand. Why should he be worried about her? He didn’t really like her. Lena sighed, remembering why she had opted to spend her morning in the maze in the first place. She wondered if it was too late to run back to the frog pond and dive in. 

Jack turned the corner, and the leaf stuck in his hair would have been comical had not his eyes been blazing with aether, a blue-green corona that completely obscured the upper part of his face. It faded considerably when he saw them, enough that Lena could make out his angry expression beneath the glow. His scarf wrinkled in such a way that it looked like an exaggerated scowl. “What are the two of you doing?” he demanded.

“We were just on our way back to the house,” Lena said, her voice shaking a little at his tone.

“Just now?” he asked incredulously.

“We haven’t been gone that long!” said Thad, rolling his eyes.

“Yes,” Lena said, not bothering to hide her confusion. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were going to Seward’s for lunch?”

Jack cocked an eyebrow at her. “I did. And now I’m back. It’s nearly time for dinner.”

“You’re joking,” she said.

“Do I sound like I’m joking?” he said, standing with his arms crossed. 

“But that’s not possible!” she said.

Jack only looked at her, and the remains of the corona made his expression seem menacing. “I assure you, it is.” He sighed, turning back the way he’d come, and said, “Come on. I’m starving.”

Thad shuffled after him, head bowed, but Lena hesitated. She reached into the basket on her arm, where the waterskin sat chilling the items around it. “Jack!” she said, rushing after him. “Wait, please!”

He kept walking. “Lena, it’s been a long day. I’m tired. Do you have any idea how much effort it takes to read an aether trail that old?”

“Wait!” she said, grabbing his arm, pulling him to a stop as she pressed the waterskin into his hand. “Jack, I’m telling you, we’ve only been here a couple of hours.” 

Jack looked down at the skin, hefting it in his hand. It was still mostly ice. She felt his shock. She saw it in his eyes. They widened, darting quickly between her and Thad. Suddenly, Jack dropped the waterskin to the ground and grabbed Thad roughly by the shoulders. The corona sprang back into full brightness, the blue-green of an intense aether-reading. Thad cried out, squirming, but Jack snapped, “Hold still!”

“You’re hurting me!” Thad said.

“Hold still!” Jack said again.

“Jack!” Lena cried. “Jack, stop it! You’re scaring him!”

Jack did not relent. Thad whimpered.

Lena grabbed Jack’s shoulder and pulled. “You’re scaring  _ me! _ What’s going on?”

He looked at her, and she saw in that glowing gaze that he too was afraid. “I think Thad’s using the aether to bend time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _4/6/18 - “There are lots of things it could be besides cancer,” the doctor said last month when I failed the preliminary cancer screening. “But we need to rule out cancer first.” The first available appointment for an advanced screening was almost three weeks later._   
>  _It was a hard three weeks. Three weeks of wondering if I was going to need chemo, lose my hair, be too sick to participate in the Summer Reading Program - I mean, I know I complain about the Summer Reading Program, but I’m pretty sure I prefer it to cancer._   
>  _I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t want my loved ones to worry if it turned out to be nothing. But then I didn’t know what to tell them when they wanted to make plans for the future either._   
>  _“Hey, why don’t we go to that concert in May?” Um, I don’t know if I’ll be up for it._   
>  _“Have you bought shoes for Dave’s wedding?” Am I going to be able to attend the wedding?_   
>  _“Have you started planning your annual Halloween party yet?” Will I be well enough to have one?_   
>  _I’m happy to say I don’t have cancer. The advanced screening went perfectly and I got the results right away. It was a huge weight off my mind._   
>  _That said, it’s put me very behind on my writing. For those three weeks, I’d sit down to write and nothing would happen. My brain was too full of reality to even think about Final Fantasy. I went from 20k words a month to 0. I didn’t even try. I’m back on it now, but I wanted to let you know in case the next chapter is delayed._   
>  _Meanwhile, the world is a beautiful place. And I don’t have cancer._   
>  _PS - Go back and read this thing from the beginning. See if you can find all the places Thad was bending time. There are plenty. :)_


End file.
